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LIFE  OF  GOETHE 


c&te'.&LjC 


LIFE  OF  GOETHE 


BY  P.  HUME  BROWN,  F.B.A.,  LL.D. 

HISTORIOGRAPHER  ROYAL  FOR  SCOTLAND  AND  PROFESSOR  OF  ANCIENT  SCOTTISH 
HISTORY  AND  PALAEOGRAPHY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  EDINBURGH 


VOL.  II. 


n 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


G'LS  I 3 

NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1920 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 
^ XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 


G Cl  r>  \ 

0 J Ga*  . U> 


rA 


J 


PAGE 

New  Travels  and  Interests,  1791-1792  . . 401 

Goethe  and  the  French  Revolution  . . . 415 

Goethe  and  Schiller 438 

Goethe’s  External  Life  during  his  Association 
with  Schiller,  1794-1805  454 

Poetical  Productions  during  the  Schiller 
Years,  1794-1805  481 

Writings  in  Prose  during  the  Schiller  Years  508 

Life  from  1805-1809.  The  Battle  of  Jena — 
Goethe  and  Napoleon 525 

Pandora— Die  Wa til  ver  tea  nd tscfia ften  . . 551 

Goethe  and  the  War  of  Liberation — Des 
Epimenides  Erwachen 570 

West-ost  lichee  Divan,  1814-1S18  . . . 589 

Eckermann — Ulrike  von  Levetzow — English 
Literature,  1819-1824  613 

Closing  Years  of  Work,  1825-1831  . . . 636 

Dicbtung  und  Wahreeit— Wilhelm  Meister  . 660 

Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjaiire . . . . 695 

Faust — First  Part  ......  719 

Faust — Second  Part  (bv  Lord  Haldane)  . . 748 

Last  Months — Conclusion,  July,  1831 — March, 

1832  779 

INDEX 801 


3 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  FACE 

Goethe  ........  Frontispiece 

From  a draining  by  D.  Haclise,  R.A.,  in  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum 

Goethe’s  House  in  Weimar 

Goethe  : October, 1807  

Goethe  in  Old  Age  .....  ... 


PAGE 

414 

538 

782 


LIFE  OF  GOETHE 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 
1791—1792 

Though  on  his  return  to  Weimar  Goethe  had  been 
relieved  of  the  burden  of  his  official  duties,  his 
attachment  to  the  Court  still  involved  a sacrifice 
of  time  which  he  would  have  preferred  to  give  to 
the  special  pursuits  in  which  he  was  interested. 
During  the  years  1790-3  he  spent  more  than  a 
year  away  from  Weimar  and  in  conditions  which 
were  not  always  congenial,  although  they  brought 
their  own  profit  to  himself  and  to  the  world. 

As  we  have  noted,  he  did  not  find  himself  happy 
in  Weimar  during  the  period  immediately  following 
his  return.  His  breach  with  Frau  von  Stein  and 
the  general  lack  of  sympathy  from  former  friends 
had  resulted  in  his  complete  isolation  from  Weimar 
society.  “ For  Weimar,”  wrote  Frau  Herder  to 
her  husband,  “ Goethe  is  no  longer  of  any  use.” 
It  was  doubtless  out  of  a desire  for  temporary 
escape  from  a painful  situation  that  in  the  autumn 
of  1789  he  contemplated  a second  journey  to  Italy 
where  he  had  found  refuge  from  his  previous  un- 
happiness. The  prospect  of  Christiane’s  confine- 
ment probably  prevented  his  carrying  out  his 
intention,  but  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year 
an  opportunity  came  and  he  decided  to  avail  him- 
self of  it.  The  Duchess  Amalia,  who  had  been  on 
a visit  to  Rome  in  company  with  Herder,  was  on 
VOL.  II.  401  B 


402  NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 

the  point  of  returning,  and  she  had  expressed  the 
wish  that  Goethe  would  meet  them  at  Venice. 

In  the  middle  of  March  he  set  out  on  his  j ourney, 
and  it  is  a significant  commentary  on  his  situation 
in  Weimar  that  it  was  the  general  impression  there 
that  he  would  never  return.  Yet  it  was  in  no  such 
mood  of  jubilant  expectation  as  on  the  occasion  of 
his  first  journey  that  he  again  visited  the  country 
in  which  he  had  found  his  re-birth.  Writing  to 
Herder  on  his  way  to  Venice,  he  says  that  it  was 
from  no  “ real  inner  impulse  ” that  he  was  prose- 
cuting his  journey.  As  it  happened,  the  conditions 
of  his  sojourn  in  Venice  were  not  such  as  to  re- 
kindle his  enthusiasm.  The  weather,  always  a 
primary  factor  in  Goethe’s  enjoyment  of  his  sur- 
roundings, was  unpropitious ; it  snowed  in  the 
beginning  of  April,  and  during  the  remainder  of  his 
stay  it  was  frequently  cold  and  wet.  To  his  annoy- 
ance, also,  the  arrival  of  the  Duchess  was  delayed, 
and  it  was  not  till  May  6 that  she  appeared,  attended 
by  Herder  and  two  of  his  former  associates  in  Rome, 
Meyer  and  Bury.  In  his  letters  to  various  friends 
and  in  a series  of  epigrams  we  have  a record  of  how 
he  spent  his  time  both  before  and  after  then’  arrival, 
and  this  record  presents  him  in  a mood  which 
contrasts  strangely  with  that  in  which  he  had  lived 
during  his  first  Italian  journey.  As  he  depicts  his 
feelings,  they  are  those  of  one  even  abnormally 
dependent  on  external  conditions  for  his  personal 
happiness — a characteristic  hardly  compatible  with 
self-sufficing  egotism.  It  appears  both  from  his 
letters  and  from  his  epigrams  that  Christiane  and 
the  home  she  had  made  for  him  lay  most  on  his 
heart.  He  commends  her  to  the  good  offices  of 
the  Duke,  and  expresses  his  gratitude  to  the  Herders 
for  their  kind  attention  to  her.  His  one  passionate 
desire  was  to  be  beside  her  again  in  the  privacy  of  his 
home  and  his  garden,  where  domestic  comfort  and 
affection  awaited  him.  And  it  is  in  his  deprivation 
of  these  joys  that  we  see  the  main  cause  of  the 


ITALY  ONCE  MORE  403 

altered  mood  in  which  he  regarded  Italy  and  its 
people.  His  present  j ourney,  he  told  the  Duke,  had 
given  “ a deadly  blow  ” to  his  love  for  Italy,  and 
he  compared  himself  to  Smelfungus  in  Sterne’s 
Sentimental  Journey  who  saw  everything  through 
his  own  distempered  emotions. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  his  splenetic  humour,  he  would 
not  have  been  Goethe  had  he  not  utilized  to  the 
full  the  leisure  at  his  disposal.  During  his  stay  in 
Venice,  he  told  Frau  Herder,  he  had  “ seen,  read, 
thought,  versified  ” more  than  he  had  ever  done 
in  a year  in  the  circle  of  his  friends.  He  visited 
pictures  till  he  was  sick  of  the  sight  of  them,  and  he 
made  a careful  study  of  the  Venetian  constitution — 
a subject  at  that  moment,  he  says,  of  special 
interest  when  everybody  was  talking  of  constitu- 
tions.1 But  now  and  for  some  years  to  come  it 
was  the  study  of  nature,  and  not  of  literature  and 
art,  that  had  the  first  place  in  his  mind. 2 Utilizing 
the  opportunity  which  the  neighbouring  sea  gave 
him,  he  made  careful  note  of  the  structure  of  crabs 
and  fishes,  which  resulted  in  “ some  beautiful 
observations.”  A lucky  incident  that  befell  him 
in  the  course  of  his  scientific  researches  has  its 
place  in  the  history  of  comparative  anatomy.  One 
day  in  the  course  of  a visit  to  the  Jewish  burying- 
ground  in  Venice,  his  servant  Gotz  jestingly  handed 
him  a skull  as  that  of  a Jew.  It  proved  to  be  the 
damaged  skull  of  a sheep,  and  in  his  examination 
of  it  Goethe  found  conclusive  proof  of  the  con- 
jecture that  had  long  been  in  his  mind,  that  the 
skull  of  animals  is  a modification  of  the  vertebra. 

After  a few  weeks  spent  in  Venice  with  the 
Duchess  in  re-examining  what  he  had  already  seen, 
he  successively  visited  with  her  Padua,  Vicenza, 

1 The  French  Revolution  broke  out  while  Goethe  was  in  Venice. 

2 In  one  of  the  best  known  of  his  Venetian  epigrams  he  says : 

“ Mit  Botanik  giebst  du  dioh  ab  ? Mit  Optik  ? Was  thust  du  ? 

1st  es  nicht  sohonrer  Gewinn,  riihren  ein  zartliches  Hera  ? 

Aoh,  die  zartliohen  Herzen ! Ein  Pfusoher  vermag  sie  zu  riihren ; 

Sei  es  mein  einziges  Gluck,  dioh  zu  beriihren,  Natur  1 ” 


404  NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 

Verona,  and  Mantua,  and  was  back  in  Weimar  in 
the  beginning  of  June.1  His  anatomical  discovery 
was  the  most  notable  incident  of  his  second  Italian 
journey,  and  his  Venetian  Epigrams  are  its  literary 
memorial.  As  their  subjects  indicate,  a few  of 
them  were  written  either  before  or  after  his  travels 
in  Italy,  but  most  of  them  were  produced  during 
his  stay  in  Venice.  In  one  of  them  he  describes 
the  heterogeneous  nature  of  their  contents. 

Wie  dem  hohen  Apostel  ein  Tuch  voll  Tiere  gezeigt  ward, 
Rein  und  unrein,  zeigt,  Lieber,  das  Buchlein  sich  dir. 

Composed,  as  he  himself  says,  after  the  manner 
rather  of  Martial  than  of  the  Greek  epigrams, 
many  of  them  unpleasantly  suggest  Smelfungus. 
He  has  biting  words  on  the  trade  of  priests  and  on 
fanatics  in  general,  and  on  the  Venetian  ways  of 
life.  He  disparages  the  German  language  as  in- 
adequate for  the  highest  effects  in  poetry — a slight 
which  was  keenly  resented  by  Klopstock, — and  he 
tells  his  countrymen  that  they  were  born  bunglers 
in  the  poetic  art.  Occasionally  we  have  a sequence 
of  epigrams  on  one  and  the  same  theme,  such  as 
those  recalling  Christiane,  and  those  on  the  French 
Revolution, — the  last  of  special  interest  as  con- 
taining his  first  words  on  an  event  which  was 
subsequently  to  occupy  much  of  his  time  and 
thought.  Two  of  them  may  be  quoted,  as  they 
express  his  permanent  attitude  to  the  French 
revolutionary  movement. 

Alle  Freiheits-Apostel,  sie  waren  mir  immer  zuwider  ; 

Willkiir  suchte  doch  nur  Jeder  am  Ende  fur  sich. 

Willst  du  Viele  befrein,  so  wag’es  Vielen  zu  dienen. 

Wie  gefarhlich  das  sei,  willst  du  es  wissen  ? Versuch’s  ! 

Konige  wollen  das  Gute,  die  Demagogen  desgleiehen, 

Sagt  man  ; doch  irren  sie  sich  ; Menschen,  ach,  sind  sie, 
wie  wir. 

Nie  gelingt  es  der  Menge,  fur  sich  zu  wollen  ; wir  wissems  ; 

Doch  wer  verstehet,  fur  uns  alle  zu  wollen  ; Er  zeig;s. 

1 Herder  had  gone  home,  Meyer  to  Switzerland,  and  Bury  had  returned 
to  Rome. 


VENETIAN  EPIGRAMS  405 

Most  interesting  of  all  the  epigrams,  however, 
is  that  in  which  he  pays  a tribute  to  Carl  August’s 
beneficent  government  of  his  dominion  and  to  his 
own  deep  debt  to  him. 

Klein  ist  unter  den  Fiirsten  Germaniens  freilich  der  meine  ; 

Kurz  und  schmal  ist  sein  Land,  massig  nur,  was  Er  vermag. 
Aber  so  wende  nach  innen,  so  wende  nach  aussen  die  Krafte 
Jeder  ; da  war’s  ein  Fest,  Deutscher  mit  Deutschen  zu  sein. 
Doch  was  priesest  du  Ihn,  den  Thaten  und  Werke  verkiinden  ? 

Und  bestochen  erschien  deine  Verehrung  vielleicht ; 

Denn  mir  bat  Er  gegeben,  was  Grosse  selten  gewahren  ; 

Neigung,  Musse,  Vertraun,  Felder  und  Garten  und  Haus. 
Niemand  braucht’  ich  zu  danken  als  Ihm,  und  Mancbes  bedurft’ 
ich, 

Der  icb  mich  auf  den  Erwerb  schlecht,  als  ein  Dichter, 
verstand. 

Hat  mich  Europa  gelobt,  was  hat  mir  Europa  gegeben  ? 

Nichts  : ich  habe,  wie  schwer  ! meine  Gedichte  bezahlt. 
Deutschland  ahmte  mich  nach,  und  Frankreich  mochte  mich 
lesen. 

England  ! freundlich  empfingst  du  den  zerriitteten  Gast.1 
Doch  was  fordert  es  mich,  dass  auch  sogar  der  Chinese 
Malet  mit  angstlicher  Hand  Werthem  und  Lotten  auf  Glas  2 ! 
Niemals  frug  ein  Kaiser  nach  mir,  es  hat  sich  kein  Konig 
Um  mich  bekiimmert,  und  Er  war  mir  August  und  Macen. 


Goethe  had  scarcely  settled  down  in  the  home 
for  which  he  had  so  passionately  longed  before  he 
was  summoned  or  invited  to  a more  extensive 
course  of  travel.  During  his  absence  political  com- 
plications had  arisen  in  which  the  future  of  the 
Duchy  of  Weimar  might  be  involved.  The  King  of 
Prussia,  alarmed  by  intended  operations  of  Austria 
against  Turkey,  had  led  an  army  into  Silesia  with 
the  object  of  frustrating  them,  and  Carl  August, 
as  Commander  of  the  Magdeburg  Cavalry,  was  now 
present  in  his  camp.  Carl  August  apparently  deemed 
Goethe’s  presence  indispensable,  for  he  took  him 
with  him  on  two  subsequent  military  expeditions  ; 
and  accordingly  he  expressed  the  wish  or  the  command 

1 The  English  translation  of  Werther. 

2 Specimens  of  these  had  been  brought  to  Germany. 


406  NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 

that  he  should  join  him  in  the  camp  near  Breslau. 
Goethe  had  refused  similar  orders  or  requests  of  the 
Duke  on  previous  occasions,  but,  in  spite  of  the 
attractions  of  Christiane  and  his  garden,  on  this 
occasion  he  saw  fit  to  comply,  though,  as  he  told 
von  Knebel,  he  would  find  the  fields  sown  with 
warriors  instead  of  with  plants  and  stones. 

On  July  26,  onfy  a few  weeks  after  his  return  from 
Italy,  he  started  on  his  j ourney  and  passing  through 
Dresden,  where  he  spent  two  pleasant  days,  he 
arrived  at  the  Prussian  camp  near  Breslau.  lie  has 
told  us  how  he  was  engaged  in  the  midst  of  war’s 
alarms  ; living  apart  like  a hermit,  he  added  to  the 
number  of  his  Venetian  epigrams,  studied  compara- 
tive anatomy,  and  began  a comic  opera.1  Negotia- 
tions between  Prussia  and  Austria  having  resulted 
in  a mutual  understanding,  the  Prussian  army  with- 
drew, and  during  the  remainder  of  the  expedition 
Goethe  spent  most  of  his  time  in  Breslau — “ noisy, 
dirty,  evil-smelling  Breslau,”  as  he  calls  it.  Ever 
curious  about  lands  and  peoples,  however,  he 
travelled  extensively  in  Silesia,  and  under  the  guid- 
ance of  the  director  of  mines  in  that  country,  received 
hints  for  the  management  of  those  at  Ilmenau, 
then  in  a precarious  financial  condition.  After 
journeying  as  far  east  as  Cracow  in  company  with 
the  Duke,  he  returned  by  way  of  Dresden,  where  he 
spent  over  a week  and  renewed  his  acquaintance 
with  Korner,  the  friend  of  Schiller,  whom  he  had 
met  on  the  occasion  of  his  previous  visit.  In  an 
interesting  letter  to  Schiller,  Korner  gives  his 
impression  of  Goethe  which  corresponds  with 
Schiller’s  own.  His  manner  of  address,  he  s&ys, 
was  cold  and  repellant ; though  in  a subsequent 
letter  he  adds  that  he  found  him  more  communi- 
cative than  he  expected.  By  the  first  week  of 
October,  after  an  absence  of  more  than  two  months, 
Goethe  was  back  in  Weimar,  rejoiced,  he  told  Herder, 
that  he  again  would  have  the  opportunity  of  taking 

1 Die  Mystijizierlm , which  afterwards  grew  into  the  Gross-Cophla. 


THEATRICAL  MANAGEMENT  407 

an  evening  meal  with  him  and  of  being  once  more 
by  the  side  of  his  “ Mddchen .” 

The  year  1791  Goethe  describes  as  “ a peaceful 
year  spent  at  home.”  It  was  also  a memorable 
year  in  his  life,  as  it  saw  him  committed  to  two 
labours,  one  of  which  was  to  engage  much  of  his  time 
and  energies  during  the  following  twenty-six  years, 
while  the  other  was  to  the  close  of  his  career  to  absorb 
his  intellect  and  his  feelings  as  no  other  of  his  mani- 
fold interests  absorbed  him.  In  May,  1791,  he  under- 
took the  management  of  a new  theatre  in  Weimar 
which  had  been  built  the  previous  year.  We  have 
seen  the  lively  interest  which  he  had  taken  in 
theatrical  entertainments  during  the  earlier  years 
of  his  stay  at  the  Weimar  Court.  As  the  original 
ducal  theatre  had  been  burnt  down  two  years  before 
his  arrival,  an  amateur  Compaq,  composed  of 
members  of  the  Court,  had  been  formed,  and  he  had 
written  a succession  of  pieces  for  their  performance. 
The  amateur  players  had  wearied  of  their  amuse- 
ment, and  in  1784  a professional  company  had 
settled  in  the  town  and  had  purveyed  entertainment 
till  1790,  when  the  new  theatre  was  built.  The 
manager  of  the  company  having  then  decided  to 
leave  Weimar,  a new  manager  had  to  be  found,  and 
Goethe,  with  his  belief  in  the  educative  influence  of 
the  stage,  gladly  undertook  the  post.  He  threw 
himself  with  characteristic  thoroughness  into  the 
laborious  task  which  was  to  make  such  large  demands 
on  his  time  for  so  many  years  to  come.  To  every 
detail  connected  with  theatrical  management  he 
gave  his  scrupulous  care.  He  personally  took  in 
hand  the  training  of  the  actors  and  actresses,  insisting 
on  absolute  obedience  to  the  directions  he  thought 
proper  to  give  them.  Shortcomings  and  delin- 
quencies on  the  part  of  the  individual  members  of 
the  company  were  severely  censured,  and  with  so 
high  a hand  did  he  exercise  his  authority  that  the 
Duke  jestingly  called  him  “ a petty  tyrant.”  He 
even  insisted  on  a becoming  demeanour  on  the  part 


408  NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 

of  the  audience.  When  a foolish  play  of  Friedrich 
Schlegel  was  being  acted  and  the  audience  were 
showing  signs  of  amusement,  he  rose  from  his  seat 
and  thundered,  “No  laughing  ! ” What  made  his 
labours  more  arduous  was  the  scantiness  of  the 
materials  with  which  he  had  to  work.  Stage  acces- 
sories were  miserably  deficient,  and  he  had  so  meagre 
a supply  of  actors  that  the  chief  of  them  had  to  take 
several  parts  and  the  theatre  attendants  had  to 
complete  the  list  of  the  dramatis  personae.1  Yet, 
in  spite  of  these  disadvantages,  Goethe  succeeded 
in  giving  such  effect  to  his  ideals  that  the  theatre  of 
Weimar  came  to  be  the  first  in  Germany,  and  to  its 
exemplar  it  is  mainly  due  that  theatrical  repre- 
sentations fill  so  important  a role  in  the  life  of  the 
German  people. 

The  other  interest  which  began  to  preoccupy 
Goethe  in  the  same  year,  1791,  lay  in  the  sphere  in 
which  he  had  already  expended  so  much  of  his 
energies — the  sphere  of  natural  science.  We  have 
seen  how  absorbed  he  had  been  in  anatomical  studies 
during  his  journeys  to  Venice  and  Silesia.  He  now 
turned  his  attention  to  another  department  of  science, 
and,  as  not  infrequently  happens  in  the  lives  of 
mortals,  it  was  an  accident  that  awoke  his  interest 
in  a subject  which  was  to  hold  the  first  place  in  his 
thoughts  and  to  evoke  his  liveliest  emotions  during 
the  rest  of  his  life.  Always  interested  in  the  art  of 
painting,  he  was  led  by  the  glowing  landscape  of 
Italy,  as  he  saw  it  in  his  first  visit  to  that  country, 
to  give  special  attention  to  the  nature  of  colours, 
and  on  his  return  he  had  borrowed  a set  of  prisms  and 
other  optical  instruments  with  the  intention  of 
making  experiments  for  himself.  He  had  left  the 
instruments  untouched  till  May,  1791,  when,  on  their 
being  reclaimed  by  their  owner,  he  made  a hasty 
experiment  which  resulted  in  what  he  considered 
a remarkable  discovery.  On  looking  through  a prism 
at  a white  wall  he  expected,  in  accordance  with 

1 The  theatre  did  not  pay  its  way,  and  the  Duke  had  to  subsidize  it. 


409 


THEORY  OF  LIGHT 

what  he  supposed  to  be  the  Newtonian  theory  of 
light,  to  see  the  wall  variegated  with  different  colours  ; 
but  what  he  actually  saw  was  that  the  wall  remained 
of  a uniform  white.  Ignorant  of  the  fact  that  what 
Newton  really  said  was  that  only  the  edges  of  a white 
surface,  viewed  through  a prism,  were  coloured,  he 
hastily  concluded  that  Newton  was  wrong.  Irre- 
mediably convinced,  however,  that  Newton  was  in 
error,  Goethe  began  a course  of  observation  and 
experiment  which  ended  only  with  his  life. 

The  story  of  Goethe’s  attempt  to  convince  the 
world  of  the  truth  of  his  own  theory  that  light  is 
homogeneous,  as  against  the  Newtonian  theory 
that  it  is  heterogeneous,  belongs  to  the  history  of 
optical  science.  What  is  of  interest  so  far  as  his 
biography  is  concerned  is  the  fact  that  one  half  of 
his  life  was  spent  under  a delusion  of  which  the  world 
is  now  aware.  To  no  other  work,  not  even  to  Faust, 
the  greatest  birth  of  his  genius,  did  he  give  such  a 
measure  of  time  and  toil  as  to  the  demonstration 
that  Newton’s  theory  was  founded  on  error.  The 
temper  in  which  he  conducted  the  long  controversy 
in  which  he  now  found  himself  engaged  is  no  less 
noteworthy.  Of  Newton  he  came  to  speak  in  terms 
of  personal  animosity,  and  in  prose  and  verse 
denounced  him  as  one  of  the  world’s  false  teachers.1 
As  contemporary  men  of  science  almost  unanimously 
rejected  his  view,2  he  sweepingly  attributed  their 
blindness  to  the  inherent  pedantry  and  bigotry  of  a 
professional  caste.  Indeed,  to  express  a doubt  of 
the  truth  of  his  own  conclusion  was  to  risk  a breach 
of  friendly  relations  with  him.  In  explanation  of 
this  seemingly  blind  perversity  on  the  part  of  Goethe, 
it  is  to  be  remembered  that  in  his  view  it  was  not 
only  the  acceptance  of  his  particular  theory  of  colours 
that  was  at  stake,  but  his  fundamental  conception 

1 It  would  not  have  raised  Newton  in  Goethe’s  estimation  had  he 
known  that  Newton  called  poetry  “ ingenious  trifling  ” and  statues  “ stone 
dolls.” 

2 Two  great  philosophers,  Hegel  and  Schopenhauer,  accepted  Goethe’s 
theory, 


410  NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 

of  the  processes  of  nature.  In  these  processes,  as 
he  conceived  them,  the  simplest  means  are  invariably 
employed  to  effect  nature’s  ends,  and  his  insuperable 
objection  to  the  Newtonian  theory  was  that  it 
contradicted  nature’s  universal  methods.  Thus 
bantered  by  his  destmy,  Goethe  gave  his  toil  and  his 
marvellous  powers  to  the  propagation  of  a delusion. 
Yet,  though  the  main  thesis  of  the  writings  which 
he  devoted  to  the  promulgation  of  his  theory,  is 
based  on  a misconception,  they  contain  passages 
unsurpassed  in  any  of  his  prose  productions.  His 
two  expositions,  entitled,  Beitrage  zur  Optik,1 
published  respectively  in  1791  and  1792,  have  pages 
which  only  a great  poet  could  have  written,  and  in 
the  historical  portion  of  his  Farbenlehre  (1810) 
we  have  the  unique  spectacle  of  an  intellectual  peer 
judging  the  thinkers  of  ancient  and  modern  times 
who  have  made  the  greatest  contributions  to  human 
progress. 

To  the  same  period  of  which  we  are  speaking 
belongs  a newly-awakened  interest  of  Goethe,  which 
he  himself  emphatically  notes  as  exercising  a distinc- 
tive influence  on  his  future  thinking.  This  new 
interest  lay  in  a sphere  in  which  by  nature  he  never 
found  himself  at  home — the  sphere  of  abstract 
speculation.  In  the  course  of  his  miscellaneous 
reading  in  youth  he  had  met  with  Briicker’s  History 
of  Philosophy,  in  which,  he  says,  he  had  browsed 
with  delight,  but  with  such  vague  impressions,  that 
he  compared  himself  to  one  who  had  gazed  all  his 
life  on  the  stars  without  knowing  anything  of 
astronomy.  At  a later  date  he  had  made  acquaint- 
ance with  a philosopher  whom  he  had  read  with 
intelligence  and  from  whom  he  had  derived  satis- 
faction both  for  his  intellect  and  for  his  feelings.  In 
Frankfort  during  his  early  twenties,  and  subse- 
quently in  Weimar,  he  had  found  in  Spinoza 


1 Of  the  first  of  these  Beitrage,  he  says  that  they  “ mit  schlechtem 
Dank  und  hohlen  Redensarten  der  Schule  beiseite  geschoben  wurden.” 


THE  KANTIAN  PHILOSOPHY  411 

conceptions  of  nature  and  of  man’s  attitude  to  life 
which  appealed  to  his  own  deepest  instincts. 

On  his  return  from  his  first  Italian  journey, 
however,  he  found  the  world  around  him  interested 
in  another  philosopher,  of  whose  teaching  he  had 
already  heard,  but  with  whose  writings  he  had 
hitherto  made  only  a cursory  acquaintance.  In 
Jena  which,  rather  than  Weimar,  he  regarded  as  his 
intellectual  home,  the  philosophy  of  Kant  was  being 
enthusiastically  taught  by  Professor  Reinhold,  a 
son-in-law  of  Wieland,  who  had  made  a convert  of 
Schiller  among  others.  Goethe,  as  we  have  seen, 
was  not  yet  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  Schiller, 
and  it  was  his  own  independent  curiosity  that  led 
him  to  turn  to  Kant  with  the  object  of  discovering 
if  the  new  philosophy  had  any  message  for  himself. 
For  philosophy  in  a technical  sense,  he  tells  us,  he 
had  no  “ organ.”1  He  had  listened  to  talk  about 
Kant’s  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  which  had  appeared 
in  1781,  but  he  had  concluded  that  it  “ lay  wholly 
beyond  the  sphere  of  his  own  interests.”  It  was 
another  work  of  Kant,  the  Critique  of  Judgment, 
just  published  (1790),  to  which  he  first  gave  his 
serious  attention.  The  larger  import  of  the  Kantian 
philosophy  as  a whole  was  to  be  pressed  upon  him 
at  a later  date,  and  specially  during  the  period  of 
his  close  intercourse  with  Schiller,  but  at  this  point 
we  are  only  concerned  with  the  particular  doctrine 
of  Kant  which  now  interested  him  and  to  which  he 
makes  contemporary  reference.2 

The  Critique  of  Judgment  appeared  in  1790,  and 
in  the  course  of  that  year  Goethe  read  it.  To  his 

1 Goethe  had  also  no  “ organ  ” for  mathematics. 

2 Goethe  notes  that  Kant  gave  no  signs  of  interest  in  himself. 

Perhaps,  however,  Kant  had  Gotz  von  Berlichingen  and  its  imitations 

in  his  eye  when  he  wrote  the  following  passage : “ Da  nun  die  Originalitat 
des  Talents  ein  (aber  nicht  das  einzige)  wesentliches  Stuck  vom  Character 
des  Genies  ausmacht : so  glauben  seichte  Kopfe,  das  sie  nicht  besser 
zeigen  konnen,  sie  waren  aufbluhende  Genies,  als  wenn  sie  sich  vom 
Schulzwange  aller  Regeln  lossagen  und  glauben,  man  paradiere  besser 
auf  einem  kollerichten  Pferde  als  auf  einem  Schulpferde.”  Kant,  it  may 
be  added,  expressed  high  admiration  for  Schiller. 


412  NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 

unexpected  pleasure  he  found  in  it  the  confirmation 
of  conceptions  which  had  long  been  in  his  own  mind, 
though  unsystematized.  “ Kant’s  book,”  he  wrote 
in  October  to  his  musical  friend  Reichardt,  “ has 
given  me  great  pleasure,  and  has  induced  me  to  turn 
to  his  earlier  writings.”  When,  in  the  same  autumn, 
he  met  Schiller’s  friend  Korner  in  Dresden,  their 
talk  was  mainly  of  Kant.  “ He  has  found  food  for 
his  philosophy,”  Korner  wrote  to  Schiller,  “ in 
Kant’s  critical  examination  of  the  teleological  judg- 
ment.” And  in  reply  to  Korner’ s letter  Schiller  has 
some  remarks  which  may  be  taken  as  defining 
Goethe’s  permanent  attitude  to  all  abstract  thinking. 
“It  is  interesting,”  Schiller  wrote,  “ to  observe  how 
he  [Goethe]  clothes  everything  in  his  own  way  and 
fashion,  and  reproduces  in  the  most  surprising 
manner  what  he  has  read  ; but  I should  not  care  to 
argue  with  him  about  things  in  which  I am  really 
interested.  He  is  altogether  lacking  in  the  hearty 
manner  of  revealing  himself  on  any  subj  ect  whatever. 
For  him  all  philosophy  is  subj  ective,  and  that  means 
the  end  of  conviction  and  of  argument.  His  philo- 
sophy, too,  is  not  wholly  to  my  liking  ; it  draws 
too  much  from  the  sensible  world,  whereas  I draw 
from  the  soul.  . . . But  his  spirit  works  and  searches 
in  all  directions,  and  strives  to  construct  a whole — 
and  for  me  that  makes  him  a great  man.”  When 
Schiller  here  says  that  Goethe’s  philosophy  was  too 
much  drawn  from  the  sensible  world,  he  was  saying 
only  what  Goethe  himself  consistently  declared — 
that  for  him  the  truth  of  all  speculation  was  to  be 
tested  by  its  accordance  with  what  he  observed  to  be 
the  processes  alike  of  nature  and  of  art. 

In  the  conclusions  which  he  drew  from  his  reading 
of  Kant  at  this  time  we  have  an  illustration  of  his 
method  of  dealing  with  all  the  philosophers  to  whom 
at  one  time  or  another  he  gave  his  attention.  From 
Spinoza  he  had  only  appropriated  what  in  that 
thinker  appealed  to  and  confirmed  his  own  experi- 
ence, and  he  now  treated  Kant  in  the  same  manner. 


THE  KANTIAN  PHILOSOPHY  413 

In  a sentence  which  we  are  to  regard  as  having  been 
spoken  at  this  time,1  he  explains  what  his  recent 
study  of  Kant  had  specifically  given  him.  During 
a j ourney,  which  will  presently  be  noted,  he  met  an 
interesting  young  schoolmaster  with  whom  he  had 
some  pleasant  conversations,  and  who,  like  many 
others,  expressed  his  surprise  that  Goethe  had 
abandoned  poetry  for  science.  As  the  school- 
master was  a student  of  Kant,  Goethe  considered 
that  he  could  best  explain  his  change  of  interests 
by  an  appeal  to  that  thinker,  and,  as  he  reports  his 
own  words,  he  spoke  as  follows : “ When  Kant  in 
his  Critique  of  Judgment  places  the  teleological  j udg- 
ment  beside  the  aesthetic,  it  shows  that  what  he  meant 
to  indicate  was  this  : a work  of  art  should  be  treated 
as  a work  of  Nature  and  a work  of  Nature  as  a work 
of  art,  and  the  value  of  each  should  be  developed 
out  of  itself  and  considered  in  itself.”  2 

We  see  what  pleasure  and  encouragement  Goethe 
would  find  in  the  opinion  of  Kant  which  he  thus 
expounds.  From  the  time  he  had  seriously  addressed 
himself  to  nature  studies,  the  world  in  general  as 
well  as  his  most  intimate  friends  had  deplored  the 
misdirection  of  his  genius.  Now  he  received  the 
assurance  of  a great  thinker  that  the  functions  of 
the  poet  and  the  man  of  science  were  not  disparate, 
but  that,  on  the  contrary,  their  attitude  to  their 
respective  subjects  should  be  the  same,  and  that 
the  gifts  needful  for  the  highest  work  in  both  were 
fundamentally  alike.  Kant’s  conception  “ that  a 
work  of  art  should  be  treated  as  a work  of  Nature 
and  a work  of  Nature  as  a work  of  art  ” was,  however, 
no  new  revelation  to  Goethe.  Notably  since  his  first 
Italian  journey  the  idea  had  underlain  all  his  efforts 
in  his  studies  of  nature  and  of  art  alike.  It  was  his 
deep  conviction  that  to  the  production  of  a poem 

1 Campagne  in  Frankreich,  October  25,  1792. 

2 In  his  Critique  of  Judgment  Kant  has  this  sentence  : “ Die  Katur  war 
sohon,  wenn  sie  zugleich  als  Kunst  aussah,  und  die  Kunst  kann  nur  schon 
genannt  werden,  wenn  wir  uns  bewusst  sind,  sie  sei  Kunst,  und  sie  uns 
doch  als  Natur  aussieht.” 


414  NEW  TRAVELS  AND  INTERESTS 

and  to  the  making  of  a scientific  discovery  the  same 
faculty  was  needful — the  imaginative  reason.  For 
him,  therefore,  there  was  no  incongruity  between 
the  labour  that  went  to  the  creation  of  Faust  and 
the  labour  that  resulted  in  the  discoveries  of  the 
metamorphosis  of  plants,  of  the  intermaxillary  bone, 
and  of  the  relation  between  the  skull  and  the 
vertebra.1 

It  was  in  these  new  interests  that  Goethe  was 
engaged  during  his  “ peaceful  year  at  home,”  extend- 
ing from  October,  1791,  to  August,  1792. 2 Less 
peacefully  were  to  be  spent  the  two  following  years — ■ 
years  among  the  most  momentous  in  human  history, 
the  events  of  which  for  Goethe,  as  for  all  thinking 
men,  betokened  the  beginning  of  a new  phase  in 
man’s  destiny. 

1 In  the  course  of  the  same  journey  in  which  he  had  the  talk  with  the 
young  schoolmaster  he  also  met  a Prince  Reuss,  who  expressed  his  sur- 
prise that  he  preferred  to  speak  of  science  rather  than  of  tragedies  and 
novels,  and  Goethe’s  comment  is : “ Denn  es  ging  mir  mit  diesen  Entwick- 
lungen  natiirlicher  Phanomene  wie  mit  Gedichten ; ich  machte  sie  nicht 
sondern  sie  machten  mioh.” — Campagne  in  Frankreich,  August  30,  1792. 

2 In  connection  with  the  various  pursuits  of  Goethe  that  have  been 
noted  should  be  mentioned  his  founding  of  the  Frcitagsgesellschaft  (July, 
1791),  which  at  first  met  at  the  Duchess  Amalia’s,  but  subsequently  at 
Goethe’s  house  in  the  Frauenplan.  Wieland,  Herder,  Knebel,  and  others 
were  members  of  it,  but  Goethe  was  its  emanating  spirit.  The  subjects 
disoussed  ranged  over  science,  literature,  and  art. 


G-oetue’s  House  in  Weimar. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


GOETHE  AND  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

While  Goethe  was  passing  his  “ peaceful  year  ” in 
Weimar,  Europe  was  witnessing  events  unprecedented 
in  its  history.  In  the  summer  of  1789,  while  he  was 
writing  his  epigrams  and  pursuing  his  scientific 
investigations  in  Venice,  the  French  Revolution  had 
broken  out,  and  the  National  Assembly  had  subse- 
quently run  its  course.  France,  having  overthrown 
her  ancient  constitution,  now  found  herself  threatened 
by  a coalition  of  foreign  enemies.  In  1792  she 
declared  war  against  the  Emperor  of  Austria  on  his 
refusal  to  expel  the  French  emigres  who  were  endea- 
vouring to  stir  up  hostilities  against  her,  and  this 
action  was  to  involve  Goethe  in  an  experience 
strangely  alien  to  all  his  natural  instincts.  The 
Austrian  Emperor  prepared  to  invade  France,  in 
alliance  with  the  King  of  Prussia,  with  the  object  of 
crushing  the  Revolution  and  restoring  Louis  XVT. 
to  his  throne ; and,  as  the  Duke  of  Weimar  com- 
manded a brigade  in  the  Prussian  army,  he  was 
bound  to  take  his  part  in  the  campaign.  But,  as 
already  observed,  the  Duke  seems  to  have  regarded 
Goethe  as  an  indispensable  companion  on  such 
expeditions,  and  when,  in  June,  1792,  he  set  out  for 
the  camp  of  the  Allies,  it  was  on  the  understanding 
that  Goethe  should  j oin  him  at  a later  date. 

In  the  second  week  of  August,  Goethe  left  Weimar, 
provided,  as  he  tells  us,  with  his  MSS.  on  optics,  a 
lexicon  of  physical  science,  and  a map  of  the  country 
which  was  to  be  the  scene  of  the  Allies’  operations. 
On  the  12th  he  was  in  Frankfort,  where  he  saw  his 

415 


416  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

mother  for  the  first  time  after  an  interval  of  thirteen 
years.  So  far  as  we  know,  there  had  not  been  a 
shadow  of  misunderstanding  between  the  two,  and 
their  meeting,  it  would  appear,  gave  equal  pleasure 
to  both.  Yet,  though  she  lived  for  other  sixteen 
years,  Goethe  visited  her  only  thrice  during  that 
period.  His  neglect  has  been  attributed  to  lack  of 
filial  affection  due  to  a natural  coldness  of  heart, 
though  we  may  remember  that  another  great  man, 
not  usually  supposed  to  be  devoid  of  the  milk  of 
human  kindness,  is  open  to  the  same  charge.  Dr. 
Johnson  for  many  years  did  not  visit  his  mother  at 
Lichfield,  an  easier  journey  from  London  than  to 
Frankfort  from  Weimar,  and  did  not  even  make  an 
effort  to  see  her  during  her  last  illness.  Johnson’s 
worshipper,  Boswell,  pleads  in  his  excuse,  “ his 
literary  labours  which  confined  him  to  London,” 
and  if  absorbing  occupations  are  to  be  held  as  a 
sufficient  excuse  for  filial  neglect,  Goethe  may  have 
the  benefit  in  at  least  as  great  measure  as  Johnson. 
But  there  may  be  another  explanation  of  Goethe’s 
apparent  neglect  of  filial  duty  : a sojourn  in  Frank- 
fort was  a weariness  to  him.  In  a letter  to  his 
friend  Jacobi,  written  during  his  present  stay  there, 
he  told  him  that  it  was  pleasant  to  be  among  his  old 
friends  again,  but  that  he  found  the  continual 
recurrence  of  the  same  themes  in  their  conversation 
so  tedious  that  he  longed  to  be  back  to  his  house 
and  garden  among  the  Thuringian  hills. 

He  had,  however,  no  such  pleasant  prospect 
immediately  before  him.  On  August  20  he  left 
Frankfort,  and  by  way  of  Mainz,  Treves,  and  Luxem- 
bourg, joined  the  camp  of  the  Allies  at  Longwy 
which  had  been  treacherously  surrendered  to  them. 
As  he  describes  his  state  of  mind  in  entering  on  the 
campaign,  it  was  one  of  complete  indifference  to  the 
issues  that  were  at  stake.  In  the  letter  to  Jacobi 
just  referred  to  he  said  that  the  fate  of  “ aristocratic 
or  democratic  sinners  ” gave  him  no  concern  ; and 
on  his  journey  to  the  camp  he  showed  such  an 


417 


CAMPAIGN  IN  FRANCE 

open  mind  in  his  conversations  with  the  persons  he 
met  that  a postmaster  took  him  for  a republican  and 
directed  his  attention  to  the  traces  of  the  barbarities 
of  the  Prussian  soldiery. 

It  was  in  the  full  confidence  of  victory  that  the 
Allies — Prussians,  Austrians,  and  emigres , led  by 
Frederick  William,  King  of  Prussia,  and  the  Duke 
of  Brunswick — had  begun  their  march  into  France.1 
Frederick  was  reported  to  have  said  that  he  would 
convert  France  into  an  “ ashheap.”  He  was  to  be 
miserably  undeceived.  From  the  beginning  of  the 
campaign  it  rained  so  incessantly  that  the  j est  went 
that  Jupiter  must  be  a Jacobin.  After  a toilsome 
march  over  roads  almost  impassable  the  Allies  reached 
Verdun,  to  which  they  immediately  laid  siege — 
Goethe,  while  it  proceeded,  being  specially  interested 
in  the  beautiful  prismatic  colours  in  a neighbouring 
spring.  After  a two  days’  bombardment,  the 
treachery  of  a body  of  its  citizens  compelled  its 
surrender  by  its  Jacobin  commander  Beaurepaire, 
who  shot  himself  immediately  after  signing  the  terms 
of  capitulation — a significant  indication,  as  Goethe 
remarks,  of  the  spirit  that  now  animated  France. 
The  easy  capture  of  Verdun  seemed  to  confirm  the 
prediction  of  the  emigres  that  the  French  people 
would  welcome  the  Allies  as  deliverers,  and,  sharing 
the  general  confidence,  Goethe  wrote  to  Christiane 
that  within  a few  days  they  would  be  in  Paris  whence 
she  might  expect  something  of  that  city’s  haber- 
dashery. 

In  weather  somewhat  improved  the  Allies  con- 
tinued their  march  to  Valmy,  Goethe  riding  with  the 
regular  troops  as  a safer  and  more  honourable 
position  than  with  the  baggage-train. 2 At  Valmy 

1 Goethe  relates  the  incidents  of  the  campaign  in  his  Campagne  in 
Franlcreich,  based  on  his  notes  made  at  the  time,  and  with  additions  from 
subsequent  information.  It  was  prepared  for  publication  in  1820-21. 

2 He  had  hitherto  travelled  in  a light  carriage  drawn  by  four  horses. 
A Prussian  officer  of  artillery,  who  came  in  contact  with  Goethe  during  the 
campaign,  describes  him  as  exquisitely  dressed  and  looking  more  like  a 
prince  than  a burgher-secretary.  At  the  Duke  of  Weimar’s  mess  one  day 

VOL.  H.  C 


418  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

the  invaders  found  themselves  in  a dangerous  pre- 
dicament. Dumouriez,  the  commander  of  the  French 
army,  had  taken  up  a position  at  Ste.  Menehoulcl,  to 
the  east  of  Valmy,  on  the  flank  of  the  Allies,  and 
thus  cut  them  off  from  the  frontier.  Here  he  was 
joined  by  Kellermann  with  another  body  of  troops, 
which  increased  his  numbers  to  76,000  as  against 
70,000  of  the  enemy.  On  September  19  the  two 
armies  engaged,  and  in  the  course  of  the  battle 
Goethe  deliberately  sought  to  ascertain  what  “ can- 
non-fever ” was  like,  by  riding  among  the  shot  of 
the  enemy.  The  issue  of  the  day  was  a serious 
reverse  for  the  Allies,  and  it  was  during  the  bivouac 
at  night  that  Goethe  made  his  famous  remark  on  its  . 
portentous  import.  “ Here  and  now  begins  a new 
era  in  the  world’s  history,  and  you  can  say  that  j'ou 
were  present  at  its  birth.”  1 Two  days  later  the 
French  Republic  was  founded,  and  the  way  was 
opened  for  events  that  were  to  astonish  the  world. 

The  Allies  were  now  in  a precarious  position. 
After  the  defeat  at  Valmy,  further  advance  was 
impossible  and  retreat  was  them  only  course.  But 
an  unmolested  retreat  had  been  secured  only  on 
condition  of  their  surrendering  the  places  they  had 
taken.  By  the  same  wajr  as  they  had  come  their 
withdrawal  began,  and  it  was  conducted  under 
pitiable  circumstances.  Sickness,  which  had  been 
prevalent  since  the  beginning  of  the  invasion,  became 
general ; the  weather  was  worse  than  ever,  and  the 
roads  were  so  hopeless  that  the  troops  had  to  make 
their  way  through  the  fields  as  best  they  could.  In 
all  these  hardships  Goethe  had  his  share.  He 

Goethe  was  laying  down  the  law  on  the  subject  of  artillery  when  the  officer 
bluntly  told  him  that  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  talking  about.  Goethe 
blushed,  but,  recovering  himself,  gave  a good-natured  reply. 

1 In  La  Revue  Hebdomadaire  (December  18,  1915)  M.  Arthur  Chuquet 
endeavours  to  prove  that  Goethe  did  not  utter  these  words  at  the  time, 
but  added  them  as  an  afterthought  in  his  narrative  of  the  campaign. 
He  omits  to  observe  that,  in  another  narrative,  the  Siege  of  Mainz,  com- 
posed at  the  same  time  as  the  Campaign  in  France,  Goethe  mentions  that 
a few  months  later,  during  the  siege  of  Mainz,  his  words  were  recalled  to 
him  by  the  officers  to  whom  they  were  spoken. 


RETREAT  FROM  FRANCE  419 

suffered  from  tlie  prevalent  sickness,  lost  his  carriage 
which  contained  his  optical  observations  and  other 
belongings,  and  did  not  recover  it  for  some  days. 
Throughout  the  campaign  he  had  made  a point  of 
inspiring  his  comrades  by  his  lively  talk,  but  they 
noted  that  even  he  had  now  lost  his  usual  spirits. 
Yet  he  does  not  omit  to  tell  us  that  at  Grandpre,  a 
specially  trying  spot  in  the  line  of  retreat,  he  found 
solace  in  reading  his  science  lexicon. 

By  way  of  Longwy,  Verdun,  and  Luxembourg 
the  broken  host  at  length  reached  German  ground 
at  Treves,  where  Goethe  found  himself  free  to  direct 
his  own  movements.  Here  he  received  a proposal 
which  he  seems  to  have  regarded  as  of  special 
interest,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  long  digression 
he  devotes  to  it  in  his  narrative  of  the  campaign. 
His  maternal  uncle,  Councillor  Textor  of  Frankfort, 
had  just  died,  and  it  occurred  to  Goethe’s  friends 
there  that  he  might  be  disposed  to  succeed  to  his 
office.  Accordingly  they  commissioned  his  mother 
to  ask  if  he  would  offer  himself  for  election.  He  did 
not  reply  for  two  months,  but  the  delay  implied  no 
hesitation  as  to  his  decision.  Shortly  after  his 
original  settlement  in  Weimar  he  had  told  his  mother 
that  the  bourgeois  life  of  Frankfort  was  no  longer 
possible  for  him,  and  we  have  just  seen  how  he  had 
found  even  a few  days  there  a weariness.  He 
civilly  declined  the  offer,  therefore,  with  the  full 
approval  of  his  mother,  who  in  her  reply  told  him 
that  he  was  essentially  a Freiherr  and  that  it  would 
be  imprudent  for  him  to  enter  on  a new  course 
of  life. 

It  had  been  Goethe’s  intention  to  revisit  his 
mother  on  his  way  home,  but  this  was  rendered 
impossible  as  the  French  had  crossed  the  Rhine  and 
were  now  in  possession  of  Frankfort.1  Accordingly, 

1 Goethe  invited  his  mother  to  Weimar,  but,  steadfast  in  her  “ Old 
Testament  faith,”  she  refused  to  leave  Frankfort.  The  exactions  of  the 
French,  however,  compelled  her  to  sell  the  family  house,  with  pictures, 
wine-cellar,  etc.,  and  to  find  another  residence. 


420 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 


taking  boat  at  Treves,  he  sailed  down  the  Moselle 
to  Coblenz,  narrowly  escaping  shipwreck,  though  at 
the  moment  of  greatest  danger  he  represents  him- 
self as  plunged  in  contemplation.  From  Coblenz, 
in  a hired  boat  (which  proved  dangerously  leaky), 
he  descended  the  Rhine  to  Diisseldorf — a place 
which  brought  a flood  of  memories  to  his  mind.  Not 
far  off  was  Pempelfort,  the  home  of  Fritz  Jacobi, 
with  whom  eighteen  years  before  he  had  spent  some 
days  of  intimate  spiritual  communing  which  both 
had  noted  as  marking  an  epoch  in  their  intellectual 
life.  In  the  narrative  which  we  are  following  he 
pauses  to  reflect  on  the  mental  and  spiritual  trans- 
formation he  had  undergone  since  those  days  of 
youthful  enthusiasm.  In  the  few  weeks  he  now 
spent  with  Jacobi  at  Pempelfort,  varied  by  visits 
to  Diisseldorf,  it  was  brought  home  to  him  how  deep 
was  the  gulf  by  which  they  had  come  to  be  parted. 
Jacobi  and  the  other  friends  whom  he  met  with  him, 
he  says,  hardly  recognized  him.  Natural  science,  the 
subj  ect  which  absorbed  most  of  his  thoughts,  made  no 
appeal  to  Jacobi,  with  his  belief  in  a special  faculty 
that  transcends  science  and  is  capable  of  revealing 
the  mysteries  of  things.  But  both  were  men  of  the 
world,  and  they  found  topics  on  which  they  dis- 
coursed with  such  mutual  pleasure  that  they  parted 
as  old  friends,  though  each  in  his  heart  knew  that 
their  ways  must  continue  to  diverge. 

“ '~His  next  stopping-place  was  Duisburg,  where  he 
visited  the  strange  being  in  whom  he  had  been 
interested  some  fifteen  years  before.  This  was  the 
morbid  youth  Plessing  who  had  appealed  to  him  for 
counsel  in  his  mental  trouble,  and  whom  he  had 
interviewed  in  his  flying  visit  to  the  Harz  Mountains 
in  1777.  Plessing  had  so  far  recovered  health  of 
mind  that  he  was  now  Professor  of  Ancient  Philo- 
sophy, but  the  impression  he  made  on  Goethe  was 
such  as  to  leave  the  latter  apprehensive  of  his  future. 
Goethe’s  continued  interest  in  Plessing,  it  may  be 
said  in  passing,  is  another  illustration  of  a marked 


PRINCESS  GALL1TZIN 


421 


trait  in  his  character — a willingness,  at  his  own 
personal  inconvenience,  to  give  what  help  he  could 
to  honestly  struggling  mortals. 

From  Duisburg  he  proceeded  to  Munster,  where 
he  had  an  experience  which  must  have  remained  a 
vivid  memory,  as  he  relates  it  with  peculiar  effusion. 
At  every  period  of  his  life  he  was  attracted  by  all 
forms  of  simple  piety.  In  youth  he  had  been 
greatly  drawn  to  his  mother’s  friend,  Fraulein  von 
Klettenberg  of  the  Moravian  community,  and  later 
to  the  mystic,  Jung  Stillung.  Now  he  voluntarily 
sought  the  society  of  one  from  whom  by  all  his  views 
of  man’s  life  and  destiny  he  was  poles  apart.  In 
Weimar  and  elsewhere  he  had  previously  met  the 
Princess  Gallitzin,  a German  by  birth,  but  married 
to  a Russian  prince,  and  it  was  with  this  lady  that 
he  chose  to  sojourn  for  a time  in  Munster.  The 
Princess  had  had  a varied  spiritual  history.  She 
had  begun  as  a woman  of  the  world,  but  had  come 
under  the  influence  of  Hamann,  the  “ Magus  of  the 
North,”  who  had  inspired  Herder  and  had  always 
interested  Goethe.  So  close  was  the  bond  between 
them  that  she  took  Hamann  under  her  own  roof,  and 
on  his  death  buried  him  in  her  garden.  Hamann  had 
died  four  years  before  Goethe’s  visit,  and  since  his 
death  the  lady  had  come  under  new  influences  and 
was  now  a devout  Catholic,  surrounded  by  persons 
of  the  same  communion.  Goethe,  who  had  found 
himself  at  home  among  Bohemian  artists  at  Rome, 
on  his  own  evidence  found  himself  equally  at  home 
in  this  pious  circle,  and  the  remarkable  thing  is  that 
the  Princess  and  her  friends  were  fully  aware  of  his 
opinions  on  all  that  they  held  sacred.  He  found, 
indeed,  that  he  could  talk  with  greater  freedom  and 
on  a greater  range  of  subjects  than  with  Jacobi  and 
his  friends.  He  was  listened  to  with  interest  when 
he  spoke  of  his  scientific  investigations,  and  his 
Italian  experiences  evoked  an  intelligent  sympathy 
which  he  had  failed  to  find  in  Weimar.  It  was 
characteristic  that  he  described  the  various  Church 


422  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 


ceremonies  lie  had  seen  in  Rome  with  such  feeling 
that  one  of  his  hearers  asked  the  Princess  in  a whisper 
if  he  were  really  a Catholic.  One  result  of  Goethe’s 
visit  to  the  Princess  was  that  it  added  still  another 
to  the  list  of  his  manifold  interests.  She  had  in  her 
possession  a rare  collection  of  carved  gems,  and 
Goethe  evinced  such  a lively  curiosity  in  them  that 
she  insisted  on  his  taking  them  with  him  for  further 
study.1  It  was  with  mutual  feelings  of  the  highest 
regard  that  he,  the  Neo-pagan,  and  she,  the  Catholic 
mystic,  at  length  parted.  She  had  been  warned 
before  his  coming,  she  told  him,  that  he  was  a 
dangerous  person,  yet  her  parting  words  to  him  were 
that  they  might  meet  again,  if  not  in  this,  in  the 
next  world.  “ I see  no  reason,”  is  his  characteristic 
reflection  on  this  pious  wish,  “ why  I should  find 
fault  with  any  one  who  wishes  to  draw  me  into  his 
sphere,  where  alone,  according  to  his  conviction,  it 
is  possible  to  live  in  tranquillity  and  to  die  quietly  in 
the  same  life  of  eternal  blessedness.” 

On  December  16,  after  an  absence  of  four 
months,  Goethe  reached  Weimar,  in  circumstances, 
he  notes,  which  would  have  brightened  the  darkest 
scene  in  a novel.  His  arrival  took  place  at  midnight 
when  he  found  Christiane  and  his  boy  comfortably 
settled  in  the  house  which  was  henceforth  to  be  his 
permanent  home.  It  was  the  house  in  the  Frauen- 
plan  which  the  Duke  had  originally  rented  and 
afterwards  purchased  for  him,  and  which  by  his 
order  had  been  prepared  for  occupation  during 
Goethe’s  absence,  yet  with  such  details  left  unfinished 
as  Goethe  might  prefer  to  arrange  at  his  own  pleasure. 
With  the  accommodation  now  at  his  disposal  he  was 
able  to  take  in  as  his  housemate  Heinrich  Meyer,2 
whose  help  and  counsel  he  had  found  so  invaluable 
during  his  residence  in  Rome. 

1 Goethe  subsequently  became  an  assiduous  collector  of  gems  on  bis 
own  account,  and  made  them  a special  study. 

2 Meyer  acted  as  teacher  and  director  of  the  Weimar  Drawing-school, 
and  resided  with  Goethe  till  his  marriage  in  1802. 


EVACUATION  OF  MAINZ  423 

The  next  five  months  Goethe  spent  quietly  at 
home,  mainly  occupied  with  the  theatre  and  his 
optical  studies.  In  May,  1793,  he  was  summoned 
to  a new  experience  of  war.  The  King  of  Prussia 
was  preparing  to  lay  siege  to  Mainz,  then  in  possession 
of  the  French,  and  the  Duke  had  to  take  part  in 
the  attempt.  On  May  10  Goethe  left  Weimar,  and, 
passing  through  Frankfort,1  which  had  been  evacu- 
ated by  the  French,  joined  the  army  besieging  Mainz. 
As  during  the  campaign  in  France,  he  followed  the 
operations  with  interest,  but  throughout  the  siege 
his  attention  was  concentrated  on  his  own  studies — 
in  further  writing  on  optical  questions  and  in  the 
completion  of  a literary  work  he  then  had  in  hand. 
The  actual  bombardment  of  the  town  began  on 
June  27,  and  its  capitulation  took  place  on  July  23, 
with  attendant  circumstances  which  anew  impressed 
Goethe  with  the  spiritual  forces  that  had  been 
evoked  by  the  Revolution.  From  a window  in  the 
toll-house  of  the  town  he  witnessed  the  French 
evacuation  and  he  thus  describes  the  spectacle. 

“ A column  of  Marseillais,  small  black-looking 
men,  dressed  in  rags  of  all  colours,  came  tramping 
along,  as  if  king  Edwin  had  opened  his  mountain, 
and  sent  out  the  lively  host  of  dwarfs.  Regular 
troops  followed,  grave  and  sullen,  but  neither  down- 
cast nor  ashamed.  But  the  most  remarkable  appari- 
tion, which  struck  everybody,  was,  when  the  chasseurs 
a cheval  rode  up  ; they  had  come  near  to  where  we 
were  in  perfect  silence,  when,  all  at  once,  their  band 
began  to  play  the  Marseillaise  hymn.  This  revolu- 
tionary Te  Deum  has  at  all  times  something  melan- 
choly and  ominous  about  it,  however  briskly  it  may 
be  played ; but  they  now  played  it  quite  slow, 
suiting  well  with  the  creeping  pace  at  which  they 
rode.  It  was  impressive  and  fearful ; and  it  was  a 
solemn  sight  when  the  troopers  approached,  long, 
lanky  veterans,  whose  mien  also  accorded  with  the 
music  : singly  you  might  have  compared  them  with 

1 Where  he  again  saw  his  mother. 


424  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

Don  Quixote ; united  they  appeared  highly  vener- 
able.” 1 

An  incident  that  occurred  during  the  evacuation 
and  in  which  Goethe  himself  was  the  leading  actor 
is  another  illustration  of  that  resolution  and  prompt- 
ness of  action  which  he  exemplified  wdien  threatened 
with  shipwreck  in  his  crossing  from  Sicily  to  Naples. 
While  gazing  from  the  toll-house  window  at  the 
departing  garrison,  he  saw  a man  and  woman, 
evidently  persons  of  note,  in  danger  of  their  lives 
from  an  infuriated  mob.  Rushing  out  of  doors,  he 
vehemently  addressed  the  crowd,  reminding  them 
that  no  disturbance  could  be  permitted  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Duke  of  Weimar’s  quarters,  and,  at  serious 
risk  to  himself,  succeeded  in  preventing  them  from 
carrying  out  their  purpose.  When  the  rashness  of 
his  action  in  risking  his  life  for  one  who  might  be  a 
criminal  for  aught  he  knew  was  pointed  out  to  him, 
he  replied  that  he  only  acted  according  to  his  nature 
“ which  would  rather  permit  him  to  commit  an 
injustice  than  suffer  disorder.” 

The  army  having  now  accomplished  its  object, 
Goethe  was  free  to  return  home,  where,  after  a short 
stay  with  his  brother-in-law  Schlosser,  and  a renewed 
visit  to  Frankfort,  he  arrived  on  August  22  after 
an  absence  of  over  three  months. 


Goethe  had  seen  and  experienced  in  his  own 
person  the  results  of  the  forces  let  loose  by  the  French 
Revolution.  What  were  the  predominant  feelings 
it  awoke  in  him,  and  what  was  his  permanent  attitude 
to  the  course  it  ran  ? In  the  Venetian  epigrams 
already  quoted  we  have  the  expression  of  his  first 
instinctive  feeling  when  the  news  of  the  proceedings 
of  the  French  States- General  reached  him.  All 
apostles  of  freedom,  he  wrote,  had  ever  been  hateful 
to  him.  Yet  there  had  been  a time  when  Goethe 
himself  had  been  regarded  as  a revolutionary  of 

1 Translation  by  Robert  Farie,  Lond.,  1849. 


GOETHE  S CHANGED  ATTITUDE  425 

dangerous  type.  In  literature,  his  Gotz  von  Ber- 
lichingen  had  been  a defiance  of  existing  conventions, 
and  had  evoked  a swarm  of  imitations  which  had 
excited  the  contempt  and  indignation  of  Kant. 
His  Werther  had  sent  a shudder  through  respectable 
German  society  as  a specious  attack  on  the  very 
foundations  of  morality  and  of  human  responsibility. 
In  politics,  also,  he  had  expressed  himself  in  an 
equally  revolutionary  spirit ; the  last  words  he  puts 
in  the  mouth  of  Gotz  are  a cry  for  liberty,  and  in  his 
mother’s  house  he,  with  the  brothers  Stolberg,  had 
vehemently  expressed  his  desire  for  the  blood  of  all 
tyrants. 

But  since  these  wild  days  Goethe  had  “ sub- 
mitted to  a new  control.”  As  the  result  alike  of  his 
actual  experience  of  life  and  of  his  inner  development, 
he  had  arrived  at  conceptions  regarding  all  that 
concerns  the  well-being  of  the  individual  and  of 
humanity  which  divided  him  by  a gulf  from  his 
former  self.  When  the  French  Revolution  broke 
upon  the  world,  he  had  been  for  fourteen  years  the 
honoured  friend  and  guest  of  a prince,  in  whom, 
with  all  his  shortcomings,  he  saw  a ruler  genuinely 
interested  in  the  welfare  of  his  people.  His  own 
experience  as  an  administrator,  too,  had  disposed 
him  to  regard  respect  for  the  powers  that  be  as  the 
best  safeguard  for  a progressive  society.  As  a 
courtier  and,  we  may  say,  with  the  instincts  of  a 
courtier,  he  was  thus  averse  to  all  movements  that 
would  strike  at  the  foundation  of  existing  arrange- 
ments. And  his  inner  development  had  confirmed 
him  in  these  convictions.  What  the  results  of  that 
development  had  been  for  him,  has  already  been 
indicated.  In  the  domains  of  art  and  literature  self- 
restraint  and  repose  were  the  ideals  after  which  he 
who  would  achieve  the  highest  effects  must  strive. 
And  his  investigations  of  nature  had  led  him  to 
similar  conclusions  ; her  results,  also,  were  attained 
not  by  violent  breaks  in  her  working,  but  by  gradual 
processes,  by  evolution  and  not  by  revolution. 


426  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

Goethe  had  thus  ceased  to  be  a revolutionary 
after  the  type  of  his  earlier  days,  but,  in  truth,  he 
was  now,  and  with  reasoned  conviction,  more  pro- 
foundly revolutionary  than  he  had  ever  been.  In 
Rome  he  had  written : “ Nor  will  I rest  now  until 
nothing  is  mere  word  and  tradition  for  me  any  more, 
but  everything  a living  conception.”  1 In  taking 
such  an  attitude  to  all  human  experience  Goethe 
was  at  the  point  of  view  of  the  most  advanced 
modern  thought,  and  it  is  precisely  as  the  first  great 
representative  of  this  point  of  view  that  he  has  his 
supreme  place  in  the  line  of  modern  thinkers.2 
And  in  his  own  estimate  of  the  work  he  accomplished 
for  the  world  it  is  the  freeing  of  men’s  minds  from 
routine  thinking  that  he  emphasizes  as  his  main 
achievement.  In  his  latest  years,  in  words  frequently 
quoted,  he  thus  expressed  the  debt  which  he  thought 
his  own  nation  owed  him : “ If  I were  to  say  what 
I had  really  been  to  the  Germans  in  general  and  to 
the  young  German  poets  in  particular,  I should  say 
I had  been  their  liberator.” 

This  was  the  mission,  then,  that  Goethe  set 
before  himself  on  his  return  from  Italy.  It  was  not 
to  make  proselytes  or  to  impose  convictions  by 
authority,  but  to  train  serious  searchers  after  truth, 
capable  of  analysing  their  own  thought  and  experi- 
ence, and  of  attaining  independent  conclusions. 
Such  being  his  ideal,  the  gospel  proclaimed  by  the 
French  Revolution  necessarily  appeared  to  him  both 
superficial  and  mischievous. 3 Even  if  its  doctrines 
of  the  equality  of  men  and  government  by  the 
people  were  realized,  it  would  not  result  in  making 

1 So  in  one  of  his  Xenien  he  says  : — 

“ Dass  ich  Natur  und  Kunst  zu  schauen  mich  treulich  bestrebe, 

Dass  kein  Name  mich  tauscht,  dass  mioh  kein  Dogma  beschrankt.” 

2 George  Meredith  calls  Goethe  “ that  great  figure  of  modem  manhood,' 
An  Essay  on  Comedy  and  the  Uses  of  the  Comic  Spirit  (Lond.,  1906),  p.  102. 

3 In  his  own  well-known  phrase,  the  Revolution,  like  the  Reformation, 
“gave  a set-back  to  quiet  culture.”  In  his  later  years,  it  should  be  said, 
he  spoke  warmly  of  the  beneficent  results  of  the  Reformation,  and  called 
Luther  one  of  the  world’s  great  liberators. 


THE  LITERARY  OUTCOME 


427 


mankind  wiser  and  better.  Their  passions  and 
modes  of  thinking  would  remain  the  same,  and  they 
would  be  led  to  seek  in  external  conditions  the 
comfort  and  happiness  which  only  self-  discipline 
can  give  the  individual.  Goethe’s  permanent  feeling 
towards  the  Revolution,  therefore,  was  irritation- 
irritation  at  what  he  considered  its  mischievous 
tendencies,  and  irritation  at  its  thwarting  of  his  own 
ideals. 

He  would  fain  have  put  it  out  of  his  thoughts 
and  gone  his  own  way  in  peace,  but  it  was  impossible 
even  for  him  to  ignore  the  commotion  in  the  world 
around  him.  Even  in  his  own  immediate  circle  the 
ferment  was  working  ominously  : the  friends  with 
whom  he  hitherto  had  most  in  common — Wieland, 
Herder,  and  Knebel — openly  proclaimed  their  sympa- 
thies with  the  revolutionary  doctrines.  In  spite  of 
himself,  he  could  not  hold  himself  aloof  from  the 
movement  which  was  absorbing  all  men’s  minds  : 
the  French  Revolution,  he  told  Jacobi,  had  been  a 
revolution  for  him  also.  In  the  past  it  had  been  his 
invariable  habit  to  seek  relief  from  inner  disturbance 
by  giving  it  expression  in  some  literary  form,  and  it 
was  the  same  impulse  that  now  prompted  the  succes- 
sion of  pieces  of  which  the  Revolution  is  more  or  less 
the  theme.  These  pieces,  however,  had  no  such 
simple  inspiration  behind  them  as  that  which  pro- 
duced Gotz  and  Werther.  They  were  the  product  of 
divided  emotions,  in  which  irritation  and  lack  of 
sympathy  were  predominant,  and  they  were,  there- 
fore, foredoomed  to  failure  as  works  of  literary  art. 
The  world  would  have  been  no  loser,  had  he  never 
written  them  ; but,  as  part  of  his  biography,  they 
have  their  interest  as  an  example,  not  the  first  in 
Goethe’s  career,  of  misdirected  genius. 

The  earliest  of  them,  the  Gross- Cophta,  is  not 
directly  concerned  with  the  Revolution.  Its  plot  is 
based  on  the  story  of  the  Diamond  Necklace,  in  which 
the  arch-charlatan  Cagliostro  played  one  of  his  many 
parts.  As  far  back  as  1781  Goethe  had  been  interested 


428  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

in  Cagliostro,  and  he  had  followed  with  the  closest 
attention  the  famous  trial  in  which  the  reputation 
of  Marie  Antoinette  had  been  compromised.  During 
his  stay  in  Palermo,  in  the  course  of  his  Italian 
journey,  his  curiosity  had  led  him  to  visit  Cagliostro’ s 
relations  resident  there,  and  to  make  inquiries 
regarding  his  antecedents.  What  had  impressed  him 
in  reading  the  account  of  the  trial  was  its  revela- 
tion of  a depth  of  depravity  among  the  upper  classes 
in  France  that  betokened  a society  ripe  for  dissolu- 
tion. Such  being  his  impression  of  the  portentous 
significance  of  the  trial,  it  is  curious  that,  when  he 
chose  it  as  a theme  for  literary  treatment,  he  first 
cast  it  in  the  form  of  a musical  play.1  Begun  in 
Italy,  he  completed  it  on  his  return  to  Germany,  but 
dissatisfied  with  the  result  he  rewrote  it  (1791)  as  a 
comedy  for  the  Weimar  theatre,  of  which  he  was  now 
director.  In  the  drama,  as  we  have  it,  the  serious 
reflections  which  the  circumstances  of  the  trial  had 
awakened  in  Goethe  have  no  place  ; it  is  simply  a 
satire  on  impostors  and  on  the  folly  of  persons  who 
are  fooled  by  them.  Under  changed  designations 
the  leading  personages  in  the  comedy  play  the  same 
parts  as  their  historic  originals.  The  Graf  is  Caglio- 
stro ; the  Princess,  Marie  Antoinette  ; the  Domherr, 
Cardinal  de  Rohan  ; the  Marquise,  the  adventuress 
de  Lamotte.  The  development  turns  on  the  intrigues 
of  the  Graf  and  the  Marquise  to  attain  their  respective 
ends.  To  complete  the  delusion  of  his  dupes  the 
Graf  announces  the  coming  of  the  Gross-Cophta,  and 
in  the  end  gives  himself  out  as  that  mysterious 
personage.  The  obj  ect  of  the  Marquise  who,  though 
professing  to  be  a believer  in  the  Graf,  regards  him 
as  a charlatan,  is  to  gain  possession  of  the  diamond 
necklace,  and  she  follows  the  same  tactics  as  her 
original,  de  Lamotte.  She  persuades  the  Domherr 
that  the  Princess  is  in  love  with  him  and  that  he  will 
secure  her  affections  by  presenting  her  with  the 
necklace.  He  purchases  the  necklace  and  the 

1 Die  Mystificierten, 


THE  GROSS-COPHTA 


429 


Marquise  arranges  an  interview  between  him  and  the 
Princess,  for  whom  she  substitutes  her  own  niece. 
One  of  the  Graf’s  dupes,  the  Ritter,  gets  wind  of  the 
Marquise’s  arrangements,  and  reports  them  to  the 
authorities,  with  the  result  that  in  the  final  scene 
the  Marquise,  the  Graf,  and  all  their  dupes  are 
arrested  by  the  officers  of  justice.  It  will  be  seen 
to  what  company  the  Gross-Cophta  introduces  us — a 
company  of  dupes  and  knaves  in  which  there  is  no 
single  reputable  character.  In  this  respect  it  bears 
a resemblance  to  Goethe’s  early  comedy,  Die  Mitschul- 
digen,  but  while  that  comedy  is  partially  redeemed 
by  its  sprightliness  and  humour,  in  the  Gross-Cophta 
there  is  little  of  either.  Its  general  reception  was 
convincing  proof  that  the  play  had  missed  its  mark. 
The  Duke  disliked  it ; it  fell  flat  on  its  first  represen- 
tation in  Weimar  ; and  in  Leipzig,  where  it  was  also 
produced,  it  raised  a tumult  in  the  audience.1  That, 
after  Tasso  and  Iphigenie,  Goethe  should  have 
written  such  a thing  as  the  Gross-Cophta  can  only  be 
regarded  as  one  more  proof  of  the  perturbing  influence 
of  the  Revolution  on  his  susceptible  temperament. 2 

A second  play  belonging  to  the  same  period,  the 
B'urgergeneral,  deals  directly  with  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, and  illustrates  Goethe’s  permanent  feeling 
regarding  it.  Composed  in  three  days  in  April, 
1793,  it  was  inspired,  he  tells  us,  by  the  spread  of 
revolutionary  opinions  in  Germany,  and  may  be 
taken,  he  adds,  as  evidence  of  “ the  irritable  and 
whimsical  humour  ” with  which  this  alarming  symp- 
tom filled  him.  In  writing  it  he  was  aware  that  he 
was  taking  some  risk,  as  his  treatment  of  his  theme 
would  run  counter  to  popular  feeling,  and  he  expressed 
the  hope  that  he  might  not  have  to  regret  its  pro- 
duction either  “ on  aesthetic  or  on  political  grounds.” 
A brief  sketch  of  the  piece  will  be  sufficient  to  indicate 


1 In  his  Campagne  in  Franlcreich  Goethe  says  that  his  Gross-Cophta 
gave  pain  to  Jaoobi  and  his  circle. 

2 Goethe  sent  the  proceeds  of  the  Gross-Cophta  to  the  poor  relations  of 
Cagliostro  at  Palermo. 


430  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

its  tone  and  tendency.  It  is  a comedy  in  one  act 
with  fourteen  scenes,  and  was  suggested  by  two 
French  models  which  had  proved  a success  in  the 
Weimar  theatre.  There  are  four  leading  characters 
— Rose  and  Gorge,  a newly-married  couple,  happy 
and  contented  in  their  peasant  life ; Marten,  the 
father  of  Rose,  a foolish  old  man,  who  reads 
the  newspapers  and  is  childishly  interested  in  the 
Revolution,  and  Schnaps  the  village  barber,  whose 
character  and  doings  provide  what  amusement  is  to 
be  found  in  the  play.  Schnaps  gives  himself  out  as 
an  important  agent  in  the  Revolution,  commissioned 
by  its  leaders  in  Paris  to  propagate  its  doctrines  in  the 
village  and  neighbourhood.  In  old  Marten  he  finds 
a ready  gull,  but  it  is  at  his  peril  that  he  visits  him, 
as  Gorge,  indignant  at  Schnaps’  behaviour  to  Rose, 
has  threatened  to  cudgel  him.  Schnaps  contrives 
to  find  Marten  alone,  however,  and  there  follow 
scenes,  the  express  object  of  which  is  to  throw 
ridicule  on  would-be  revolutionaries.  Schnaps  an- 
nounces that  he  has  been  appointed  “ Biirgergeneral,” 
and  out  of  his  barber’s  bag  he  produces  a French 
uniform  in  which  he  arrays  himself.  Gorge  appears, 
and  Schnaps  takes  refuge  in  the  hayloft,  whence, 
after  Gorge  leaves,  he  emerges  covered  with  hay. 
To  impress  Marten  with  his  importance  he  proceeds 
to  illustrate  impending  military  operations  with 
various  articles  in  Rose’s  cupboard,  which  to  Marten’s 
dismay  he  forces  open.  This  is  too  much  even  for 
Marten,  and  a struggle  ensues  between  them  during 
which  Gorge  reappears  and  administers  chastisement 
to  Schnaps  who  escapes  by  a back  door.  Rose  then 
joins  Marten  and  Gorge,  and  is  horrified  to  find  the 
state  of  her  cupboard.  But  a new  dread  seizes  all 
three  ; the  din  has  attracted  the  attention  of  then 
neighbours,  and  they  are  alarmed  lest  they  should 
be  taken  for  revolutionaries.  Then  fears  are  justi- 
fied, for  the  judge  appears  attended  by  a crowd  of 
villagers,  finds  convincing  proof  of  their  guilty  inten- 
tions, and  resolves  to  make  an  example  of  them. 


THE  BURGERGENERAL  431 

At  this  moment,  however,  a nobleman,  friendly  to 
Gorge  and  Rose,  opportunely  turns  up,  and  from 
their  story  is  assured  of  their  innocence.  In  the 
final  scene  we  have  the  moral  which  Goethe  intended 
to  convey  in  his  farce.  Schnaps,  brought  in  by  a 
band  of  peasants,  confesses  that  he  had  obtained 
the  uniform  from  a wounded  French  prisoner,  and 
the  nobleman,  speaking  Goethe’s  own  mind,  adminis- 
ters warning  advice  to  all  present.  Their  best 
counsel,  he  tells  them,  is  for  each  to  mind  his  own 
business,  to  leave  public  affairs  alone,  and  to  do  his 
best  to  be  happy  himself  and  to  make  others  happy. 
The  Burgergeneral  is  more  entertaining  than  the 
Gross-Cophta,  but  it  raises  our  wonder  that  Goethe 
could  treat  a world-shattering  movement  in  this 
spirit,  and  imagine  that  by  such  things  he  could 
stem  the  tide  of  revolutionary  feeling  in  Germany. 
Yet  it  found  more  favour  than  the  Gross-Cophta. 
It  was  approved  by  Jacobi,  Wieland,  Herder,  and 
even  by  Schiller,  and  it  was  applauded  in  the  theatre 
of  well-disciplined  Weimar.  On  the  other  hand,  by 
German  readers  in  general  it  was  regarded,  as 
Goethe  anticipated,  as  ill-timed  and  ill-judged 
fooling. 1 

A more  serious  performance  than  the  Burger- 
general  is  Die  Aufgeregten  described  as  a “ political 
drama,”  and  also  dealing  with  conditions  produced 
by  the  French  Revolution.  The  scene  is  a German 
village  whose  inhabitants  have  been  affected  by 
revolutionary  opinions,  and  who  have,  moreover,  a 
special  complaint  against  their  landed  superior. 
The  grandfather  of  the  then  lord,  who  is  a minor, 
had  left  a deed  granting  them  certain  privileges,  but 
the  original  document  had  disappeared  and  the  copy 
of  it  was  null  in  law.  The  leading  character  in  the 
play  is  a surgeon-barber,  not  an  absolute  fool  like 
Schnaps  in  the  Burgergeneral,  but,  though  somewhat 
vain-glorious,  a man  of  action  who  had  served  under 

1 Goethe  says  that  he  meant  the  Burgergeneral  to  be  a “ shibboleth  ” to 
distinguish  between  true  and  false  patriots. 


432  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

Frederick  the  Great.  He  is  an  ardent  revolutionary, 
and,  as  a stroke  for  the  good  cause,  he  persuades  a 
number  of  the  villagers  to  attack  the  castle  with  the 
object  of  obtaining  the  privileges  assured  to  them  in 
the  lost  deed.  The  representatives  of  the  family 
are  the  Countess  (the  widow  of  the  late  Count),  her 
son  Karl,  and  her  daughter  Friederike,  who  is  the 
heroine  of  the  drama.  She  is  a young  lady  of  a 
modern  type,  masculine  in  her  tastes,  devoted  to 
field  sports,  and  with  generous  instincts.  She  suspects 
the  steward  of  being  in  possession  of  the  lost  deed, 
presents  a gun  at  his  head,  and  gives  him  the  choice 
of  being  shot  or  of  producing  the  deed,  when  he 
prefers  the  latter  alternative.  This  brings  us  to  the 
close  of  the  Fourth  Act,  all  that  was  written  of  the 
play,  but  from  the  sketch  of  what  was  to  follow  we 
learn  that  everything  was  to  end  happily  for  all  the 
persons  concerned.  The  villagers,  led  by  the  barber, 
were  to  make  an  attempt  on  the  castle,  but,  on  being 
assured  of  the  recovery  of  the  deed,  they  were  to 
return  contented  to  their  homes. 

From  this  outline  of  the  play  it  will  be  seen  that 
neither  in  conception  nor  in  execution  does  it  rank 
with  the  greater  works  of  Goethe.  The  theme  is 
petty,  and  the  characters  are  unimportant.  The 
revolutionary  movement  is  dealt  with  in  a more 
genial  spirit,  but  in  a manner  strangely  inadequate, 
as  it  seems  to  us,  to  its  portentous  import  for  the 
future  of  humanity.  But  the  drama  as  coming  from 
the  hand  of  Goethe,  has  an  interest  apart  from  its 
intrinsic  merit.  In  his  seventy-fifth  year  Goethe 
told  his  secretary  Eckermann  that  it  contained  the 
full  expression  of  his  political  faith  at  the  time  it 
was  written.  In  the  words  of  two  of  the  characters, 
the  Countess  and  the  Hofrat,  we  find  confirma- 
tion of  this  statement.  The  Countess  had  been  in 
Paris  and  had  seen  the  wild  doings  there,  but  had 
returned  with  convictions  which  she  thus  expresses 
to  the  Hofrat:  “I  have  firmly  resolved  to  avoid  strictly 
every  act  which  seems  to  me  unjust,  and  among  my 


THE  BURGERGENERAL  433 

own  people,  in  society,  at  court  and  in  the  town,  to 
proclaim  aloud  my  view  of  such  actions.  In  the 
presence  of  no  injustice  will  I henceforth  be  silent, 
I will  tolerate  no  meanness  veiled  under  a great  show, 
even  though  I should  be  decried  under  the  detested 
name  of  democrat.”  This  is  in  the  strain  of  an 
enlightened  aristocrat,  and  in  the  reply  of  the 
Hofrat  we  have  the  point  of  view  of  an  enlightened 
bourgeois.  It  becomes  her,  he  answers,  to  oppose 
the  faults  of  those  of  her  own  rank,  as  only  those 
who  belong  to  a particular  class  in  society  are  in  a 
position  to  judge  it  fairly.  He  himself  fully  recog- 
nized the  importance  of  the  nobility  in  a state,  and 
for  that  reason  he  could  not  tolerate  the  blind  envy 
and  hate  of  the  lower  classes  against  their  superiors. 
If  every  other  advantage — health,  beauty,  talent, 
riches,  etc. — were  to  count,  why  should  not  the 
advantage  of  noble  birth  ? This  conviction  he  would 
maintain,  even  though  he  were  called  by  the  detested 
name  of  aristocrat.  In  one  of  his  conversations  with 
Eckermann  Goethe  defines  his  original  attitude  to 
the  revolution  in  words  which  may  be  taken  as  a com- 
mentary on  the  utterances  of  the  Countess  to  the 
Hofrat.  He  could  not  be  friendly  to  it,  as  its  horrors 
touched  him  too  nearly  and  its  beneficial  results 
were  not  yet  discernible.  At  the  same  time  he  was 
as  little  a friend  of  arbitrary  government,  and  it  was 
his  conviction  that  a great  revolution  was  never  the 
fault  of  the  people  but  of  their  rulers.  He  had  been 
denounced  as  a friend  of  the  powers  that  be,  but 
the  truth  was  that  he  approved  of  existing  authority 
only  when  it  was  exercised  for  the  good  of  the 
governed.  So  Goethe  spoke  in  the  calmness  of 
retrospect,  but,  when  he  wrote  the  Bilrgergeneral , 
we  may  think  that  other  feelings  were  uppermost  in 
his  mind. 

In  other  writings  belonging  to  the  same  period 
as  the  Burgergeneral  Goethe  sought  relief  from  the 
obsession  of  the  French  Revolution,  but  in  none  of 
them  do  we  find  a conception  with  the  possibilities 
VOL.  n.  D 


434  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 


of  a great  work.  In  Das  Madchen  von  Oberlcirch,  of 
which  only  two  scenes  were  written,  the  fortunes 
of  a noble  family  as  affected  by  the  Revolution  were 
to  be  the  theme,  but  the  characters,  as  we  have 
them,  give  little  promise  of  a powerful  appeal  either 
to  the  intellect  or  to  the  emotions.  Two  other  pro- 
ductions, both  in  prose  and  one  a fragment,  only 
deepen  the  impression  that  Goethe’s  attitude  to  the 
whole  revolutionary  movement  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  treat  it  with  the  plenitude  of  his  powers. 
The  fragment,  entitled,  Reise  der  Sohne  Megaprazons, 
seems  to  have  been  meant  as  a political  allegory,  in 
which  the  French  Revolution  was  to  be  the  subject 
of  a general  satire.1  In  his  Campaign  in  France 
Goethe  has  related  the  fate  of  the  fragment ; on 
reading  it  aloud  to  Jacobi  and  his  friends  he  found 
that  they  were  so  little  interested  in  it,  that  he  left 
his  “ wandering  family  ” in  any  odd  haven  and  the 
manuscript  at  the  point  which  it  had  reached.  The 
other  prose  work,  Unterhaltungen  deutscher  Ausgewan- 
derten,  has  but  a slight  connection  with  the  Revolu- 
tion. A company  of  French  exiles,  who  have  found 
a resting-place  beyond  the  Rhine,  agree  to  tell  a 
series  of  tales  by  way  of  distraction  from  the  evil 
times  and  then'  own  painful  experience.  The  tales, 
mostly  translated  from  the  Italian,  are  of  a trivial 
nature,  but  one  of  them,  of  Goethe’s  own  invention, 
has  a special  interest  for  English  readers.  It  is 
Das  Mdrchen,  which  Carlyle  translated  with  a 
running  commentary,  and  hailed  in  a dithyrambic 
introduction  as  “ one  of  the  notablest  performances 
produced  for  the  last  thousand  years.”  2 What 
Goethe  precisely  meant  in  this  allegory  or  phantas- 
magory,  as  Carlyle  preferred  to  call  it,  is  and  will 
remain  a mystery.  Carlyle  gives  his  own  interpre- 

1 The  family  Megaprazon  is  represented  as  descended  from  Rabelais 
Pantagruel. 

2 Matthew  Arnold's  judgment  on  Das  Mdrchen  is  somewhat  different 
from  Carlyle’s : he  describes  it  as  “ a piece  of  solemn  inanity,  on  which 
a man  of  Goethe’s  powers  could  never  have  wasted  his  time,  but  for  his 
lot  having  been  cast  in  a nation  which  has  never  lived.” 


REIN  EKE  FUCHS  435 

tation  of  it,  and  succeeding  critics  have  made  similar 
attempts  to  read  its  riddle,  but  with  no  explanation 
that  has  been  generally  accepted.  In  his  own  mind 
Goethe  doubtless  attached  a symbolical  significance 
to  the  characters  and  incidents  of  the  tale,  but,  as 
he  took  no  pains  to  give  the  world  a key  to  it,  we 
must  conclude  that  he  was  not  greatly  concerned 
that  its  lessons  should  be  missed.  “ I hope,”  he 
wrote  to  Schiller,  “ that  the  eighteen  figures  of  this 
drama  will  be  welcome  to  all  riddle-lovers.”  At 
every  period  of  his  life  Goethe  was  fond  of  mystifica- 
tion, and  it  seems  to  have  pleased  him  that  in 
Das  Mar chm  he  had  achieved  such  success  in 
the  art. 

But  the  most  successful  and  most  permanently 
interesting  of  Goethe’s  writings  at  this  time  was  not 
an  original  work.  During  the  campaign  in  France 
he  came,  by  what  he  calls  a “ strange  dispensation,” 
on  a copy  of  a book  which  had  interested  him  since 
his  early  youth.  It  was  the  well-known  beast-fable 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  ReineJce  Fuchs,  which  recounts 
how  the  fox  by  his  inexhaustible  wiles  triumphed 
over  all  his  enemies  and  became  chief  minister  at 
the  Court  of  King  Lion.  It  was  originally  written 
in  Low- German,  but  had  been  rendered  into  High- 
German  prose  by  Gottsched  (1752).  When  the  book 
came  into  his  hands,  he  says,  he  was  in  a mood  to 
call  all  men  fools  or  knaves,  but  here  he  found 
human  weaknesses  and  vices  presented  in  such 
humorous  fashion  as  to  put  him  in  a more  genial 
temper.  Partly  to  relieve  his  own  feelings  and 
partly  as  an  exercise  in  the  writing  of  hexameters, 
the  form  of  verse  he  chose,  he  set  himself  to  translate 
the  fable  afresh.  Begun  in  February,  1793,  it  was 
finished  in  May,  though  it  was  not  published  till  a 
year  later.  His  rendering  was  something  between 
a “ translation  and  a recasting,”  and  was  executed 
with  a gusto  which  we  do  not  feel  in  his  original  work 
of  the  same  period.  The  eighth  canto  contains  some 
passages  not  in  the  original,  one  of  them  a concise 


436  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

summary  of  his  own  political  creed.1  It  occurs  in 
the  confession  of  his  sins  by  Reineke  to  his  kinsman 
the  badger,  who  conducts  him  to  his  trial  at  Court. 

Doch  das  Schlimmste  find’  ich  den  Diinkel  des  irrigens  Wahnes, 
Der  die  Menschen  ergreift : es  konne  jeder  im  Taumel 
Seines  heftigen  Wollens  die  Welt  beherrschen  und  richten. 

Hielte  doch  jeder  sein  Weib  und  seine  Kinder  in  Ordnung, 
Wiisste  sein  trotzig  Gesinde  zu  bandigen,  konnte  sich  stille, 

Wenn  die  Thoren  verschwenden,  in  massigem  Leben  erfreuen  ! 
Aber  wie  sollte  die  Welt  sich  verbessem  ! Es  lasst  sich  ein  jeder 
Alles  zu  und  will  mit  Gewalt  die  Andem  bezwingen. 

Und  so  sinken  wir  tiefer  und  immer  tiefer  ins  Arge. 

Worst  of  all  do  I find  the  conceit  of  that  arrant  delusion, 

Which  lays  hold  upon  all  men,  that  each  of  them  can  in  the  frenzy 
Of  his  violent  will  rule  over  the  world  and  correct  it. 

Would  each  man  but  keep  his  wife  and  his  children  in  order — 
Would  he  but  check  his  arrogant  servants,  he  might  at  his  leisure, 
While  fools  squander,  enjoy  himself  in  moderate  living. 

How  can  the  world,  however,  improve  ? Self-loving  in  all  things, 
Each  would  forcibly  bring  all  others  into  subjection. 

And  thus  deeper  and  ever  more  deep  wre  sink  into  evil.2 

The  translation  of  ReineJce  Fuchs  had  an  im- 
mediate and  permanent  success.  Knebel,  Wieland, 
Schiller,  and  Herder  praised  it  enthusiastically — • 
the  last-named  going  so  far  as  to  describe  it  as  “ the 
first  and  greatest  epic  of  the  German  nation  ; indeed 
of  all  nations  since  Homer.”  Among  the  general 
public  it  found  equal  favour,  and  to  the  present  day 
it  has  remained  the  most  widely  read  of  Goethe’s 
works,  many  regarding  it  as  an  original  production. 
By  Goethe  himself,  too,  it  was  always  regarded  with 
special  satisfaction,  and  there  is  none  of  his  writings 
which  he  was  more  frequently  in  the  habit  of  quoting. 

Goethe  had  not  yet  done  with  the  French  Revo- 
lution, and  at  a later  date  it  was  to  be  the  back- 
ground of  two  other  productions  more  important 
than  any  of  those  that  have  just  been  noted.  But 
on  the  whole  series  of  his  works  more  or  less  directly 

1 This  creed  he  summed  up  still  more  briefly  when  he  said  that  the 
best  wisdom  for  the  citizen  is  “ to  sweep  his  own  door." 

* Translation  by  Alexander  Rogers,  Bell  and  Sons,  London,  1S88. 


REIN  EKE  FUCHS  437 

connected  with  the  same  theme,  he  has  himself 
expressed  a final  judgment.  “ When  I look  back 
into  these  many  years,”  he  wrote  in  1822,  “ I see 
clearly  how  my  pre-occupation  with  that  tremendous 
subject  for  so  long  a period  involved  the  almost 
complete  waste  of  my  poetical  powers.” 


CHAPTER  XXV 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

The  years  from  1794  to  1805  are  the  most  memorable 
as  they  are  the  most  interesting  in  Goethe’s  life. 
Since  his  return  from  Italy  in  1788  he  had  lived  in 
unsympathetic  isolation,  out  of  harmony  with  his 
surroundings  in  Weimar,  and  out  of  harmony  with 
the  pervading  tendencies  of  contemporary  literature. 
As  at  other  periods  of  his  life,  it  was  the  stimulus 
and  sympathy  he  received  from  another  mind  that 
roused  him  to  new  effort  and  to  the  play  of  new 
activities.  What  strikes  us  throughout  Goethe’s 
whole  career  is  that  he  had  not  the  serene,  unshaken 
confidence  in  his  own  genius  which  enabled  Milton 
and  Wordsworth  to  pursue  their  respective  ideals, 
regardless  of  an  indifferent  or  a hostile  world. 1 In 
Goethe,  as  those  who  came  to  know  him  best  agree 
in  noting,2  there  was  a side  of  his  nature  which  is 
visible  neither  in  Milton  nor  in  WordswTorth.  It  was 
the  W eiblichkeit,  the  feminine  strain  in  him,  which 
rendered  him  morbidly  sensitive  to  all  forms  of  pain, 
and  made  intelligent  sympathy  indispensable  to  the 
full  and  continuous  display  of  all  his  gifts.  In  his 
early  youth  his  sister  Cornelia  had  rendered  him  this 
sympathy  ; at  a later  time  Merck  had  in  some 
measure  supplied  it ; and  Frau  von  Stein  had  been 
a source  of  inspiration  which,  however  dubious  in 
its  quality,  had  at  least  kept  his  nature  alive.  Since 

1 Korner  writes  to  Schiller  that  Goethe  “is  very  dependent  on  t lie 
opinion  of  others  if  passion  does  not  overmaster  him  for  the  moment.'  — 
December  1,  1797. 

2 Cf.  Korner  to  Schiller.  August  29,  1796. 

43S 


A NEW  IMPULSE  439 

his  breach  with  Frau  von  Stein  no  one  had  taken 
her  place,  with  the  result  that  poetic  inspiration 
seemed  to  be  failing  him  and  physical  science  to  be 
gaining  precedence  in  his  intellectual  interests. 

There  was  something  daemonic,  he  considered, 
in  the  fate  that  brought  him  into  spiritual  contact 
with  the  man  under  whose  influence  he  was  to 
experience  a “ new  spring  ” in  productive  activity. 
Till  a fortunate  train  of  circumstances  revealed 
them  to  each  other,  it  seemed  as  if  Schiller  and  he 
were  predestined  to  follow  diverse  paths  in  permanent 
antagonism.  Schiller,  we  have  seen,  was  convinced 
that  this  must  be  their  eventual  relation  to  each  other. 
He  had  expressed  to  his  friend  Korner  his  doubt  if 
Goethe  and  himself  could  ever  come  to  a mutual 
understanding,  and  in  a moment  of  irritation  he  went 
so  far  as  to  say  that  Goethe  stood  in  his  way.  But  it 
was  Goethe’s  attitude  to  Schiller  that  seemed  to 
preclude  the  possibility  of  their  cordial  approach.  In 
Schiller  he  saw  the  most  eminent  representative  of 
certain  literary  tendencies  which  he  had  come  to 
regard  as  equally  disastrous  to  art  and  to  sound 
views  of  life.  Schiller’s  youthful  production,  the 
Robbers,  and  some  others  that  followed  it,  he  regarded 
with  a detestation  which  could  not  be  mitigated  by 
the  reflection  that  his  own  Gotz  von  Berlichingen  was 
the  parent  of  the  monstrous  progeny.  On  the  other 
hand,  Schiller  had  shown  a sincere  desire  for  a 
sympathetic  bond  with  Goethe  ; he  fully  recognized 
the  range  and  power  of  Goethe’s  genius,  and,  ever 
passionately  bent  on  developing  his  own  natural 
gifts,  he  realized  that  no  one  was  so  fitted  as  Goethe 
to  aid  him  in  the  endeavour. 1 

Accident  and  Schiller’s  worldly  tact  brought  the 
two  men  face  to  face  at  length  and  revealed  to  them 
what  they  could  be  to  each  other.  For  six  years,  in 
Weimar  and  Jena,  they  had  lived  in  the  same 

1 Before  his  friendship  with  Goethe  began,  Schiller  wrote  to  Korner 
that  among  all  the  men  he  knew  Goethe  was  the  one  who  could  do  him  the 
greatest  service. 


440  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

neighbourhood,  and  during  all  that  period  Goethe 
had  deliberately  repelled  every  attempt  of  common 
acquaintances  to  bring  them  into  closer  contact. 
Goethe  himself  assigns  his  reason  for  a line  of  conduct 
followed  of  set  purpose  ; by  their  respective  attitudes 
to  art  and  nature,  he  says,  Schiller  and  he  were 
further  than  the  poles  apart.  It  was  out  of  no  ill 
feeling  towards  Schiller  as  a man  that  Goethe  chose 
to  remain  on  distant  terms  with  him  ; he  procured 
his  appointment  as  a Professor  of  History  in  the 
University  of  Jena,1  and  he  prepared  his  Don  Carlos 
(a  play  of  which  he  personally  disapproved)  for 
production  in  the  Weimar  theatre.  Fortunately 
there  were  social  relations  that  favoured  a mutual 
approach.  In  February,  1789,  Schiller  had  married 
Charlotte  von  Lengefeldt,  a woman  of  natural  gifts 
and  keen  literary  tastes,  whom  Goethe  had  known 
from  her  childhood  and  who  was  intimate  with  the 
Weimar  circle  in  which  he  moved.  As  she  was  an 
enthusiastic  admirer  of  Goethe,  she  had  striven 
with  feminine  tact  to  bring  him  and  Schiller  to  an 
understanding,  and  subsequently,  when  the  bond 
between  them  was  struck,  she  did  much  to  strengthen 
the  tie.  Another  link  was  Korner,  whose  acquaint- 
ance, as  we  have  seen,  Goethe  had  made  in  Munich 
in  the  course  of  his  visit  to  Silesia.  Korner  was 
Schiller’s  closest  friend  and  it  was  to  him  that  he  had 
communicated  his  impressions  of  Goethe’s  character 
and  genius.  Schiller’s  high  opinion  of  Korner’ s 
judgment  in  matters  of  literature  Goethe  fully  shared, 
and  during  the  entire  period  of  their  friendship  Korner 
was  the  person  in  closest  relations  with  both. 

It  was  a happy  accident,  however,  that  gave  the 
two  poets  the  opportunity  of  seeing  the  depths  of 
each  other’s  minds.  It  is  Goethe  who  relates  the 
circumstances,  and  he  does  so  with  a minuteness  of 
detail  that  shows  the  importance  he  attached  to  it.2 


1 In  1788,  Schiller  had  previously  published  his  History  of  the  Revolt 
of  the  Netherlands. 

2 In  a paper  entitled,  Erste  Bekanntschaft  mit  Schiller. 


THE  FRIENDSHIP  BEGINS  441 

In  May,  1794,  on  leaving  the  meeting  of  a Jena 
scientific  society  he  fell  in  with  Schiller  who  had  also 
been  present.  On  their  way  home  they  discussed 
the  lecture  to  which  they  had  listened.  Schiller, 
though  he  generally  approved  of  the  discourse, 
animadverted  on  the  piecemeal  way  in  which  it 
treated  nature,  a way  which  was  not  fitted  to  interest 
a lay  inquirer.  This  was  a criticism  entirely  in 
accord  with  Goethe’s  own  outlook,  and  he  replied 
that  such  a way  of  treating  nature  might  be  repellent 
even  to  men  of  science,  and  that  there  must  be 
another  way  by  which  nature  could  be  regarded  as 
a living  whole.  Schiller  was  sceptical  of  this  possi- 
bility, and  Goethe,  keenly  interested  in  a subject 
which  lay  nearer  his  heart  than  any  other,  accom- 
panied Schiller  into  his  house  to  continue  the 
discussion.'  Sketching  the  conformation  of  a typical 
plant,  he  expounded  his  own  theory  of  the  metamor- 
phosis of  plants.  Schiller  remained  unconvinced, 
and  objected  that  what  Goethe  had  described  was 
no  experience  but  only  an  idea.  With  some  heat 
Goethe  replied  that  he  was  gratified  to  think  that  he 
had  ideas  without  knowing  it.  They  might  have 
parted  in  mutual  irritation,  but  Schiller,  who,  accord- 
ing to  Goethe,  had  much  more  savoir  faire  than 
himself,  answered  “ like  an  accomplished  Kantian,” 
and  an  animated  argument  followed  which  left 
neither  convinced  by  the  other.  The  talk  had 
confirmed  Goethe  in  his  conviction  that  he  and 
Schiller  differed  fundamentally  in  their  attitude  to 
nature,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  been  impressed 
by  Schiller’s  eager  and  intelligent  interest  in  questions 
that  were  vital  to  himself,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
had  felt  the  attraction  of  his  personal  charm.  As 
the  result  of  the  interview,  it  was  brought  home  to 
him  that  their  paths  might,  after  all,  lie  together.-'" 
On  June  8 (1794)  he  told  a correspondent  that 
Schiller  was  showing  a more  friendly  spirit  to  Weimar, 
and  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  the  fact,  as  he  looked 
for  much  good  from  his  intercourse  with  him. 


442  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

The  same  feelings,  it  would  appear,  were  working 
in  the  mind  of  Schiller,  for  five  days  later  he  addressed 
a letter  to  Goethe  which  showed  an  increased  confi- 
dence in  their  relations  to  each  other.  It  conveyed 
a request,  couched  in  the  most  flattering  terms,  that 
he  would  become  a contributor  to  a periodical  about 
to  appear  under  the  editorship  of  Schiller,  as- 
sisted by  certain  eminent  contemporaries.  Goethe 
evidently  had  his  hesitations,  as  eight  days  passed 
before  he  sent  a reply  cordially  expressing  his  willing- 
ness to  assist  in  the  enterprise  to  the  best  of  his 
ability.  This  was  the  first  approach  to  helpful 
intercourse,  and  in  the  last  week  of  August  Goethe 
received  another  letter  from  Schiller  which  sealed  the 
bond  between  them.  It  was  a letter  such  as  perhaps  no 
man  of  genius  ever  received  from  another.  Goethe’s 
isolation  and  consequent  depression  since  his  return 
from  Italy  had  been  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  found 
no  one  who  sympathetically  understood  him.  But 
in  Schiller’s  letter  the  history  of  his  mental  develop- 
ment and  the  essential  characteristics  of  his  genius 
were  sketched  with  a breadth,  delicacy,  and  insight 
which  showed  that  one  man  at  least  had  penetrated 
to  the  inmost  processes  of  his  mind.  In  a few 
pregnant  words,  Schiller  signalized  Goethe’s  “ tran- 
quil and  pure  ” objectivity  of  outlook,  his  intuitive 
habit  of  mind,  his  eye  for  the  organic  whole  in  things, 
the  necessity  under  which  his  nature  and  his  surround- 
ings laid  him  of  seeking  his  ideals  in  Greek  antiquity. 
“ You  sum  up  my  existence,”  Goethe  wrote  in  reply, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  expressed  his  confident  hope 
that  henceforth  they  would  be  mutual  helpers  in 
the  spirit.  And,  it  may  be  added,  Schiller’s  letter 
had  revealed  himself  as  well  as  portrayed  the  being 
of  Goethe.  It  displayed  the  “ open  and  rare  earnest- 
ness,” which  Goethe  saj^s  he  had  always  noted  in 
him,  the  delicate  tact,  which  Goethe  also  recognized, 
and  his  characteristic  eagerness  for  the  best  lights 
towards  the  perfecting  of  his  endowment.  All 
barriers  between  the  tw  o men  were  now  removed,  and 


GROWING  INTIMACY  443 

a fortnight  in  September  which  Schiller  spent  under 
Goethe’s  roof  further  convinced  them  that  a bene- 
ficent fate  had  brought  them  together. 

Portia  says  that  in  the  case  of  a friendship  like 
that  between  Bassanio  and  Antonio — 

“ There  must  be  needs  a like  proportion 
Of  lineaments,  of  manners,  and  of  spirit.” 

In  the  case  of  the  friendship  between  Schiller  and 
Goethe  it  is  their  dissimilarities,  physical  and  mental, 
that  make  the  first  and  most  vivid  impression.  How 
they  each  struck  an  observer  who  saw  them  for  the 
first  time,  is  recorded  in  Henry  Crabb  Robinson’s 
Diary.  He  was  in  Weimar  in  1804,  when  Goethe 
was  in  his  fifty-fifth  and  Schiller  in  his  forty-fifth 
year.  Of  Goethe  he  writes  as  follows  : “ The  sight 
of  Goethe  is  enough  to  correct  the  childish  miscon- 
ceptions we  form  of  a poet  and  a man  of  genius,  as 
if  they  were  wonders  and  shows  merely  to  be  stared 
at.  In  Goethe  I beheld  an  elderly  man  of  terrific 
dignity : penetrating  and  unsupportable  eye : a 

somewhat  aquiline  nose  and  most  expressive  lips, 
which  closed  seemed  to  be  malting  an  effort  to  move 
as  if  they  could  with  difficulty  keep  their  hidden 
treasures  from  bursting  forth. 1 A firm  step  ennobling 
an  otherwise  too  corpulent  body  ; a free  and  en- 
kindled air,  and  an  ease  in  his  gestures,  all  which 
combined  the  gentleman  with  the  Great  Man.”  His 
impression  of  Schiller,  Robinson  thus  records : 
“ Schiller  had  a wild  expression  and  a sickly  look  ; 
and  his  manners  were  those  of  one  who  is  not  at  his 
ease.  There  was  in  him  a mixture  of  the  wildness 
of  genius  and  the  awkwardness  of  a student.  His 
features  were  large  and  irregular.” 

Their  previous  experience  of  life  and  their  mental 
and  moral  characteristics  were  in  no  less  striking 
contrast  than  their  personal  appearance  and 
demeanour.  Amid  all  his  internal  conflicts  Goethe 

1 The  tightly-closed  lips  are  particularly  noticeable  in  Schwerdgeburth’s 
engraving  of  Goethe  in  his  83rd  year. 


444 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 


had  throughout  his  life  enj  oyed  a measure  of  worldly 
prosperity  such  as  has  been  the  lot  of  few  men  of 
genius.  Till  his  twenty-sixth  year  his  career  was  that 
of  a “ conquering  lord,”  as  Herder  described  him, 
with  every  opportunity  of  self-development  at  his 
command ; and  subsequently  he  had  been  the 
trusted  friend  and  counsellor  of  a prince  who  recog- 
nized his  genius  and  made  it  his  special  care  to  foster 
it.  On  the  other  hand,  from  the  time  he  reached  man- 
hood till  the  period  when  he  joined  fellowship  with 
Goethe,  Schiller  had  been  ever  at  odds  with  fortune. 
Through  untoward  circumstances  he  had  failed  to 
secure  even  a modest  subsistence,  and  he  had  been 
thwarted  at  every  turn  in  the  exercise  of  his  natural 
gifts.  And  to  the  close  of  their  comradeship,  while 
Goethe  was  pursuing  his  self-imposed  tasks  undis- 
turbed by  external  cares,  Schiller  had  to  produce  his 
successive  works  in  chronic  ill-health  and  under  the 
pressure  of  urgent  household  needs.1 

Of  Goethe’s  idiosyncrasies  wre  have  had  abundant 
illustration — his  abnormal  sensitiveness  to  the  cha- 
racter of  the  company  in  which  he  found  himself, 
his  cold  reserve  wdien  it  was  uncongenial,  his  spon- 
taneity of  response  when  it  was  sympathetic. 
Schiller’s  characteristics,  as  contrasted  with  his  own, 
Goethe  has  himself  described.  The  dominant  trait 
he  noted  in  Schiller’s  nature  was  impulsiveness  and 
an  insistence  in  impressing  his  own  convictions  on 
others  which  it  was  difficult  to  withstand.  Schiller, 
he  says,  “ had  something  violent  in  his  nature  ; he 
often  acted  too  much  according  to  a preconceived 
idea,  without  sufficient  regard  to  the  subject  which 
he  had  to  treat.”  2 For  Goethe  whose  nature  it 
was  to  let  a subject  evolve  itself,  this,  it  is  evident, 
was  a trying  trait  in  Schiller,  and  he  plainly  says  that 
he  had  always  a difficulty  in  resisting  it  and  in 

1 In  a letter  to  Korner  Schiller  says  : “ How  tenderly  was  his  [Goethe’s] 
genius  led  on  by  Fate,  and  now  I have  even  still  to  struggle.” 

2 Conversations  with  Eckermann,  February'  19, 1829.  In  my  quotations 
from  Eckermann,  I have  made  use  of  Mr.  Oxenford’s  excellent  translation. 


THE  BOND  BETWEEN  THEM  445 

maintaining  his  independence  of  judgment  when  a 
question  arose  regarding  his  own  work. 1 Thus  con- 
trasted in  their  temperaments,  they  were  equally 
dissimilar  in  their  personal  habits.  For  Goethe,  with 
his  great  physical  energjy  artificial  stimulants  were 
unnecessary  in  the  labour  of  production  ; Schiller, 
on  the  other  hand,  with  his  languid  vitality,  could  not 
dispense  with  them,  and  Goethe  detected  “ patho- 
logical passages  ” in  his  writings  which  were  the 
result  of  unnatural  stimulus.  As  illustrative  of  their 
different  plrysical  natures,  Goethe  relates  a curious 
experience.  Visiting  Schiller  one  day,  he  found  him 
from  home,  and  sat  down  to  await  his  return.  Soon 
he  felt  such  an  intolerable  oppression  from  the 
atmosphere  of  the  room  that  he  was  on  the  point  of 
fainting.  Schiller’s  wife,  entering,  explained  the 
cause  of  his  sensations.  The  fetid  atmosphere  was 
occasioned  by  a drawer  filled  with  rotten  apples,  the 
scent  of  which  Schiller  found  beneficial  and  necessary 
in  his  hours  of  work. 

The  bond  that  united  them  in  a common 
endeavour,  despite  these  antagonisms  of  taste 
and  temperament,  Goethe  has  precisely  noted. 
“ Different  as  our  natures  were,”  he  says,  “ our 
tendencies  were  still  towards  one  point,  which  made 
our  connection  so  intimate  that  the  one  really  could 
not  live  without  the  other.”  2 But  behind  their 
common  tendencies  there  was  undoubtedly  something 
deeper  that  created  the  essential  bond  between  them. 
Schiller,  on  his  part,  has  stated  what  for  him  was  the 
real  tie  that  bound  him  to  Goethe.  To  a female 
correspondent, 3 who  had  animadverted  on  his  friend- 
ship with  Goethe,  he  wrote  as  follows : “It  is  not 
this  lofty  superiority  of  his  intellect  that  binds  me 
to  him.  If  he  had  not  been  the  man  of  the  greatest 
worth  whom  I have  come[personally  to  know,  I should 
have  admired  his  genius  only  from  a distance.  . . . 

1 Conversations  with  Eckermann,  March  23,  1829. 

2 Ibid..,  October  7,  1827. 

3 Charlotte  Grafin  S^himmelmann. 


446  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

In  liis  nature  there  is  a high  truthfulness  and  loyalty 
and  the  highest  earnestness  for  the  right  and  the 
good.”  In  Schiller,  apart  from  his  genius,  Goethe 
found  the  same  high  stamp  of  character  as  Schiller 
found  in  himself.  Schiller,  he  said  to  Eckermann 
on  one  occasion,  was  as  great  at  the  tea-table  as  he 
would  have  been  in  a council  of  state,  and  he  added, 
“ he  was  a true  man  as  every  one  ought  to  be.”  1 
In  this  recognition  of  each  other’s  worth  lay  the 
.abiding  tie  that  held  them  to  a common  striving. 

Their  intellectual  interests  were  certainly  widely 
divergent,  and  would  almost  seem  to  have  precluded 
a close  intellectual  bond.  Schiller  was  profoundly 
interested  in  history,  seeing  in  the  conflict  of  man’s 
will  with  the  forces  of  nature  the  most  impressive 
spectacle  of  the  sublime.  To  Goethe,  on  the  other 
hand,  history  was  repellent  equally  on  intellectual 
and  on  ethical  grounds.  The  truth,  he  held,  could 
never  be  satisfactorily  known  ; and,  so  far  as  it  could 
be  known,  history  was  “ a confused  tale  of  error  and 
violence  ” only  fitted  to  fill  one  with  pain  and 
repulsion.  The  interest  and  attraction  which 
Schiller  found  in  history,  Goethe  found  in  the  study 
of  nature,  the  consistent  sequence  of  whose  processes 
presented  such  a consoling  contrast  to  the  inconse- 
quence of  the  actions  of  men.  A deeper  difference 
between  them  lay  in  their  respective  attitudes  to 
abstract  speculation.  While  for  Schiller  theorizing 
was  a passion,  for  Goethe  it  was  the  most  unsatis- 
factory of  mental  exercises,  and  he  insistently 
disclaims  any  natural  aptitude  for  it.  As  we  have 
seen,  he  made  a perfunctory  study  of  Kant  and 
he  subsequently  paid  some  attention  to  other  philo- 
sophers, but  he  expressly  says  that  this  was  entirely 
due  to  the  surroundings  in  which  he  found  himself. 
Thus  it  was  that  while  Goethe’s  mind  was  a storehouse 
of  facts  gained  by  a lifetime’s  observation.  Schiller 
was  always  conscious  of  the  lack  of  a “ vivid  know- 
ledge of  things.” 

1 Eckermann,  September  11,  1828. 


CONTRASTED  NATURES  447 

These  divergencies  in  their  intellectual  interests 
involved  a profound  difference  equally  in  the  nature 
of  their  creative  talent  and  in  the  methods  of  its 
working.  Goethe  himself  has  frequently  emphasized 
what  he  considered  the  broad  distinction  between 
Schiller’s  type  of  genius  and  his  own.  Schiller  was 
an  idealist, 1 while  he  was  a realist ; or,  as  he  other- 
wise put  it,  Schiller’s  genius  worked  subjectively,  his 
own  objectively.  Alike  in  poetry  and  in  science,  it 
was  Goethe’s  governing  aim  to  see  the  object  as  it 
is,  unaffected  by  personal  feeling  and  apart  from  local 
and  temporary  conditions.  For  Schiller,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  object  in  itself  was  secondary,  the  feeling 
it  awakened,  primary.  To  Schiller  Goethe  denied 
the  close  observation  of  nature,  and  he  told  Ecker- 
mann  that  the  local  colour  in  Schiller’s  Tell  was 
communicated  by  himself.  Nevertheless,  he  added, 
Schiller  “ had  such  a wonderful  mind  that,  even  on 
hearsay,  he  could  make  something  that  possessed 
reality.”  2 

The  broad  general  distinction  which  Goethe  makes 
between  himself  and  Schiller  is  borne  out  by  the 
character  of  their  respective  work  as  a whole.  But, 
as  we  know,  no  such  definite  line  can  be  drawn 
between  mind  and  mind,  and  Goethe  was  perfectly 
aware  of  the  fact.  He  would  have  countersigned 
with  full  approval  these  words  of  a modern  master 
in  realism.  “ The  realist,  if  he  is  an  artist,  will  seek, 
not  to  show  us  a banal  photograph  of  life,  but  to  give 
us  the  vision  of  it  more  complete,  more  penetrating, 
more  convincing  than  the  reality  itself.”  3 Writing  to 
Jacobi,  about  two  years  after  his  intimacy  with  Schiller 
began,  Goethe  tells  him  that  he  is  no  longer  such 
an  uncompromising  realist  as  he  had  been,  and  that 
it  is  a great  advantage  for  him  to  have  supplemented 


1 “Schiller’s  peculiar  productive  talent  lay  in  the  ideal,’’  Eckermann, 
January  18,  1827.  Goethe  says  elsewhere  that  he  was  animated  by  the 
idea  of  nature,  Schiller  by  the  idea  of  liberty. 

m 2 Ibid.,  January  17,  1827. 

3 Guy  de  Maupassant.  Introduction  to  Pierre  el  Jean. 


448  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

his  one-sidedness.1  And  in  the  draft  of  a letter  to 
Schiller,  which,  for  reasons  we  can  understand,  was 
not  sent,  he  makes  what  is  for  him  a remarkable 
confession.  “ As  an  observer,”  he  says,  “ I am 
an  uncompromising  realist,  and  would  neither  add 
to  nor  take  away  from  the  obj  ect  before  me.  . . . On 
the  other  hand,  where  the  working  of  my  own  mind 
is  concerned,  I may  almost  call  myself  a complete 
idealist ; I do  not  inquire  what  the  obj  ect  is  in  itself, 
but  demand  that  it  should  wholly  fit  in  to  my  concep- 
tion of  it.”  In  his  last  sentence  Goethe  certainly 
goes  beyond  his  own  convictions  as  well  as  his  actual 
practice,  but  it  sufficiently  proves  that  he  did  not 
find  in  an  absolute  realism  the  perfection  of  art. 
And  if  Goethe  was  not  an  “ uncompromising  ” realist, 
no  more  was  Schiller  an  absolute  idealist.  “ Two 
things,”  he  wrote  to  Goethe,  “ are  requisite  in  the 
poet  and  the  artist  : that  he  rise  above  mere  realism, 
and  that  he  remain  within  the  sphere  of  the  sensuous. 
Where  these  two  things  are  combined,  there  is 
aesthetic  art.”  2 

It  was  precisely  in  the  approximation  of  their 
respective  ideals  that  the  significance  of  their  associa- 
tion for  both  mainly  lay.  “ Schiller’s  idealism,” 
Goethe  wrote,  “ was  in  no  way  incompatible  with 
my  realism,  and  because  both  tendencies  failed  to 
attain  their  end,  so  long  as  they  remained  in  isola- 
tion, both  were  ultimately  drawn  in  a living  sense 
to  one  another.”  3 Thus  they  were  united  in  their 
striving  to  the  “ common  point,”  which  Goethe  says 
was  the  bond  between  them.  Yet  their  respective 
work  produced  even  during  the  years  of  their’  closest 
fellowship  remained  essential^  disparate.  In  his 
final  judgments  on  Schiller’s  genius  and  production, 
communicated  to  Eckermann,  Goethe  decisively 
marks  their  essential  contrast  to  his  own.  Schiller’s 
perpetual  concern  with  theories  of  art  seriously 

1 October  17,  1796. 

2 September  14, 1797. 

3 Tag-  und  Jahreshaffe,  1806. 


THEIR  CORRESPONDENCE  449 

marred  his  poetry,  since  it  led  him  to  put  the  idea 
above  the  obj  ect,  and  thus  frequently  to  transgress  the 
truth  of  nature.  In  reading  Schiller's  plays  Goethe 
found  admirable  scenes,  but  presently  he  came  on 
something  that  violated  nature  and  he  could  read 
no  further.  Schiller,  he  goes  so  far  as  to  say,  “ saw 
his  obj  ect,  as  it  were,  only  from  the  outside  ; a quiet 
development  from  its  interior  was  not  his  business.” 
In  Goethe’s  final  estimate,  therefore,  Schiller  remained 
to  the  end  a subjective  idealist,  and  thus,  in  spite  of 
their  striving  after  a common  goal,  belonged  to  an 
essentially  different  order  of  spirit  from  himself. 

The  permanent  memorial  of  the  intellectual 
fellowship  of  the  two  men  is  their  correspondence, 
extending  over  a period  of  eleven  years  (June,  1794- 
April,  1805) ; it  is  to  Goethe’s  conviction  of  its 
intrinsic  value,  at  once  for  the  German  nation  and 
for  mankind,  that  we  owe  its  publication.  It  was  not 
till  eighteen  years  after  the  death  of  Schiller  (1823) 
that  the  idea  of  giving  the  letters  to  the  world  first 
occurred  to  him.  By  the  close  of  1824  they  were 
ready  for  publication,  and  during  1828-9  they 
appeared  in  six  volumes.  It  was  in  a wholly  disin- 
terested spirit  that  Goethe  undertook  and  completed 
his  task,  for  he  frankly  admitted — what  indeed 
strikes  the  reader — the  superiority  of  Schiller’s 
letters  to  his  own  in  spontaneity  and  self-revelation 
in  “ inner  and  independent  value.”  1 As  the  picture 
of  two  souls  struggling  in  cheerful  hope,  not  uncrossed 
by  the  vexations  that  the  days  will  bring,  after 
a common  ideal ; as  “ a true  presentment  of  man’s 
earthly  life  with  its  lights  and  shadows,”  he  gave 
them  to  the  world  in  the  full  confidence  that  it  would 
appreciate  the  gift. 

His  confidence  was  not  mistaken,  for  among  the 
voluminous  writings  that-  both  left  behind  them,  their 
correspondence  holds  a unique  place.  Be  it  said 
that  their  correspondence  does  not  belong  to  the 
category  of  “ familiar  letters,”  written  with  abandon, 
1 Goethe  dictated  his  letters  to  Schiller. 


VOL.  II. 


E 


450  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

with  the  easy  effusion  of  the  moment,  touching  on 
the  trifles  that  casually  interest  the  writer  and  to 
which  his  manner  gives  charm  and  a passing  impor- 
tance. When  Goethe  and  Schiller  write  to  each 
other,  they  are  never  in  undress.  They  exchange 
the  warmest  expressions  of  affection  and  admiration, 
but  throughout  their  whole  correspondence  we  are 
living  in  the  world  of  intellect.  To  Eckermann 
Goethe  made  the  remark  that  to  maintain  his  relations 
v/ith  Jacobi  friendship  was  a necessity,  as  there  was 
no  intellectual  bond  between  them ; while,  in  the  case 
of  Schiller,  their  striving  after  a common  ideal 
rendered  friendship  unnecessary.  In  this  remark 
we  have  the  explanation  of  the  tone  that  pervades 
the  letters  of  both.  As  has  been  said,  the  letters  of 
Schiller  are  the  more  expansive  ; he  is  more  insistent 
on  the  points  he  wishes  to  make  ; and  it  is  he  who 
for  the  most  part  raises  the  questions  that  come 
under  discussion.  But  even  Schiller’s  letters  have 
not  the  ease,  the  freedom,  the  spontaneity  of  his 
correspondence  with  his  older  friend  Korner,  as 
Goethe’s  lack  the  emotional  communicativeness  of 
his  communications  to  his  later  friend  Zelter.1 

The  correspondence,  as  a whole,  is  a record  of  the 
endeavour  on  the  part  of  the  writers  to  attain  clear 
conceptions  of  what  is  essential  to  the  production 
of  the  highest  types  of  art,  and  more  especialfy  of 
the  various  forms  of  literature — the  epic,  the  drama, 
the  idyll,  and  the  lyric.  The  endeavour  was 
prompted  by  the  fact  that  German  literature 
possessed  no  great  models,  which  as  in  other  countries 
had  established  a living  tradition.  From  first  to 
last  it  is  an  aesthetic  quest  in  which  the  corre- 
spondents are  engaged,  and  they  pursue  it  in  a manner 
characteristic  of  each.  “ It  seems  to  me  necessary,” 
Schiller  writes  early  in  their  correspondence,  “ that 
we  should  attempt  to  clarify  our  conceptions  of  the 

1 In  their  letters  to  each  other  Goethe  and  Schiller  never  got  beyond 
the  formal  “ Sie.”  In  his  correspondence  with  Zelter  Goethe  uses  the 
familiar  “ du.” 


THEIR  CORRESPONDENCE  451 

nature  of  the  beautiful.”  1 In  such  an  abstract 
discussion  Schiller  was  in  his  element,  but  not  so 
Goethe  who,  in  sending  his  opinions  on  Schiller’s 
views,  adds  that  he  hardly  recognizes  himself  when 
he  takes  to  theorizing.  More  concrete  is  the  sub- 
stance of  the  letters  in  which,  for  their  mutual 
benefit,  they  comment  on  each  other’s  works.  In 
some  seventy  of  his  letters  Schiller  gives  his  estimate 
of  Wilhelm  Meister — generally  characterizing  it  as 
a marvellous  product  of  genius,  but  freely  making 
suggestions,  and  indicating  what  he  considered  over- 
sights or  artistic  lapses.  Here,  again,  the  different 
natures  of  the  two  men  are  emphasized.  Replying 
to  certain  of  Schiller’s  criticisms  on  Meister  Goethe 
frankly  states  that  owing  to  the  differences  of  their 
natures  his  demands  could  never  be  altogether 
fulfilled.  So,  when  Goethe  made  some  suggestions 
regarding  Wallenstein,  Schiller  answers  in  terms 
that  show  the  relative  influence  they  exerted  on  each 
other.  “ The  radical  difference  in  kind  between  our 
natures  admits  of  no  other  really  profitable  mode 
of  communication  than  that  of  bringing  the  whole 
face  to  face  with  the  whole  ; in  matters  of  detail, 
it  is  true,  I should  not  be  able  to  lead  you  astray, 
because  you  are  surer  of  your  ground  than  I am,  but 
you  might  easily  upset  me.”  2 

On  one  point  they  were  in  fundamental  agree- 
ment— the  superiority  of  Greek  literature  to  every 
other.  How  Goethe  had  come  to  see  in  that  lite- 
rature the  only  models  to  be  followed,  if  work  of  high 
and  permanent  value  were  to  be  achieved,  has 
abundantly  appeared.  Schiller,  also,  by  the  time 
that  their  intimate  association  began,  had  arrived 
at  the  same  conviction,  and  in  his  essays  and  letters 
on  aesthetic  subjects  (1792-5)  had  maintained  that 
only  under  the  conditions  of  Greek  life  were  the 
highest  conceptions  of  art  possible.  They  were  at 

1 October  8,  1794. 

2 Goethe  led  Schiller  to  look  without,  and  Schiller  led  Goethe  to  look 
within  ; this  is  how  they  specify  their  main  influence  on  each  other. 


452  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

one,  therefore,  when  in  discussing  the  nature  of  the 
epic  and  the  drama  they  based  their  conclusions  on 
the  examples  of  Homer  and  Sophocles — the  two 
Greeks  for  whom  they  had  the  greatest  admiration. 
It  cannot  be  said  that  their  lucubrations  on  these 
themes  resulted  in  much  profit  either  for  themselves 
or  for  the  world.  Neither,  in  truth,  had  such  a 
knowledge  of  Greek  as  to  give  solid  value  to  his 
conclusions.  Goethe  read  Sophocles  with  the  aid  of 
a translation,  and  it  was  through  translations  alone 
that  Schiller  knew  Greek  literature  at  all.  It  is, 
perhaps,  a sufficient  commentary  on  Schiller’s  concep- 
tion of  Greek  tragedy  that  he  regarded  Richard  III. 
as  the  greatest  of  Shakespeare’s  tragedies,  and  the 
one  that  reminded  him  most  of  the  Greek. 1 

But  the  dominating  impression  left  on  our  minds 
by  the  whole  correspondence  is  the  profound  earnest- 
ness with  which  Goethe  and  Schiller  both  regard  the 
aesthetic  questions  that  come  under  their  notice. 
No  two  divines  could  exchange  opinions  regarding 
matters  concerning  man’s  ultimate  salvation  with  t 
greater  seriousness  than  Goethe  and  Schiller  discussed 
the  nature  of  beauty  and  the  essentials  of  great  art. 
But  the  truth  is  that  for  both  men  these  aesthetic 
questions  did  concern  the  highest  welfare  of  humanity. 
In  the  conception  of  both  the  most  effective  means  of 
aiding  man  to  develop  his  highest  self  is  to  extend  the 
range  and  raise  the  quality  of  his  pleasures.  Art  and 
morality,  conceived  in  their  real  sense,  they  both 
held,  are  inseparably  bound  up  together,  and  the 
one  is  necessary  to  the  perfection  of  the  other.  “ It 
is  truly  worthy  of  remark,”  wrote  Schiller,  “ that 
laxity  in  aesthetic  matters  always  shows  itself  bound 
up  with  moral  laxity,  and  that  the  pure  and  strict 
endeavour  after  lofty  beauty,  together  with  the 
loftiest  liberality  towards  all  that  is  nature,  will 
lead  to  strictness  in  matters  of  morality.”  2 But 
the  finest,  as  it  is  the  most  inward  expression  of  the 

1 November  28,  1797. 

a March  2,  1798. 


THEIR  CORRESPONDENCE  453 

spirit  in  which  both  men  lived  and  worked,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  words  with  which  Goethe  concludes 
one  of  his  letters  to  Schiller.  “ Abide  fast  in  the 
bond  of  earnestness  and  love  ; all  besides  is  emptiness 
and  sorrow.”  1 


1 October  31,  1798. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


goethe’s  external  life  during  his  associa- 
tion WITH  SCHILLER 

1794 — 1805 

The  main  interest  of  Goethe’s  life  during  the  years 
1794-1805  is  in  his  renewed  literary  activity  due  to 
Schiller’s  stimulating  sympathy.  Throughout  all 
these  years  it  was  his  common  endeavour  with  Schiller 
after  tlieir  own  self-development  and  after  the 
realization  of  their  artistic  ideals  that  absorbed  most 
of  his  thoughts  and  energies.  But,  besides  literary 
production,  his  position  in  Weimar  and  his  own 
manifold  interests  made  calls  on  him  at  all  times  that 
involved  a manner  of  life  widely  different  from  that 
of  Schiller.  “ It  often  seems  strange  to  me,”  Schiller 
wrote  to  him,  “ to  think  how  you  are  so  much  thrown 
into  the  world,  while  I sit  between  my  paper  window- 
panes,  with  nothing  but  papers  before  me.”  1 

The  dominating  fact  of  Goethe’s  life  during  these 
eleven  years  was  that  Jena,  and  not  Weimar,  was 
the  place  of  his  choice.  Even  before  his  close  associa- 
tion with  Schiller  began,  wre  have  seen,  Weimar  had 
ceased  to  be  congenial  to  him.  From  the  friends 
there  in  whom  he  had  once  found  sympathy  he  was 
now  more  or  less  in  alienation.  His  estrangement 
from  Frau  von  Stein  was  permanent.  Wieland,  who 
during  the  early  Weimar  years  had  worshipped  his 
genius  and  stood  by  him  in  the  face  of  malevolent 
criticism,  was  unable  to  understand  the  new  ideals 
he  had  brought  with  him  from  Italy,  and  looked 

1 October  16,  1795. 

4.54 


ISOLATION  IN  WEIMAR  455 

coldly  on  the  works  that  had  been  produced  under 
then’  inspiration.  With  Herder  his  relations  had 
always  been  difficult,  and  in  1788,  shortly  after 
Goethe’s  return  from  Italy,  there  had  been  an  open 
breach.  Formerly  there  had  been  a certain  measure 
of  intellectual  sympathy  between  them,  but  Goethe’s 
interest  in  Kant,  whose  philosophy  Herder  detested, 
precluded  thenceforth  all  cordial  interchange  of 
opinion. 1 Between  Goethe  and  the  Duke,  also, 
there  was  not  the  safne  complete  understanding  as 
in  former  years.  The  Duke  had  not  approved  of 
Tasso,  and  certain  of  Goethe’s  productions  since 
his  return  from  Italy  had  not  been  to  his  patron’s 
taste.  Moreover,  now  that  Goethe  was  no  longer  an 
active  public  official,  the  Duke  ceased  to  consult  him 
on  questions  regarding  which  Goethe  thought  that 
he  ought  to  have  been  consulted.  Thus  a certain 
coolness  arose  between  them,  though  to  the  close  of 
their  relations  neither  ever  lost  that  affection  and 
esteem  for  the  other  which  had  been  the  foundation 
of  their  remarkable  alliance. 

Thus  isolated  in  Weimar,  Goethe  found  in  Jena 
the  sympathy  that  was  a necessity  of  his  nature. 
Jena  had  always  attracted  him,  but  at  this  period 
it  possessed  special  attractions.  Its  University,  as 
Goethe  reminds  us,  “ now  stood  on  the  summit 
of  its  glory.”  Among  its  teachers  were  the  most 
distinguished  representatives  of  their  respective 
subjects  to  be  found  in  Germany.  On  all  the  mani- 
fold matters  that  interested  Goethe — science  in  its 
various  departments,  literature  and  history — he 
could  hear  from  them  the  last  word.  Above  all, 
Schiller  was  resident  there  till  his  removal  to  Weimar 
in  1799,  and  intercourse  with  him  became  more  and 
more  indispensable  to  Goethe.  From  the  nature  of 
his  relations  with  Christiane,  he  regarded  himself  as 
free  to  go  and  come  when  he  pleased.  Year  after 

1 There  had  been  a misunderstanding  between  them  regarding  the 
payment  of  a sum  of  money  which  Herder  alleged  was  due  to  him  by  the 
Duke. 


456  THE  SCHILLER  PERIOD 

year,  therefore,  he  made  prolonged  visits  to  Jena — ■ 
visits  occasionally  covering  a great  part  of  the  year. 
Quartered  in  the  old  Schloss  1 which  belonged  to  the 
Duke,  he  saw  Schiller  and  other  distinguished  men 
daily,  and  even  attended  lectures  on  the  subjects 
in  which  he  was  specially  interested.  In  Jena, 
wrote  Schiller’s  wife,  Goethe  is  quite  a different  man 
from  what  he  is  in  Weimar. 

Besides  these  continual  visits  to  Jena,  Goethe, 
during  the  same  period,  made  other  journeys  on 
business  or  pleasure,  and  of  longer  or  shorter  duration. 
Of  these  journeys,  however,  only  two  call  for  special 
note,  as  from  both  he  returned  with  rich  intellectual 
spoils.  The  first  belongs  to  1797,  and  extended 
from  the  end  of  July  till  past  the  middle  of  November ; 
the  second  to  1801,  lasting  from  the  beginning  of 
June  till  the  close  of  August. 

To  the  former,  long  meditated  and  undertaken 
with  a definite  object,  Goethe  attached  a special 
importance  ; the  experience  it  brought  him,  he  says, 
made  it  “ a beautiful  point  ” in  his  life.  We  have 
seen  how  his  visit  to  Venice  in  1790  had  disenchanted 
him  with  Italy.  In  view  of  what  he  owed  to  Italy, 
however,  the  disenchantment  was  bound  to  be  only 
temporary,  and  he  had  conceived  the  plan  of  a great 
work  of  which  Italy  itself  was  to  be  the  subject.  This 
was  a history  of  Italian  art  as  it  had  been  influenced 
by  the  climatic,  social,  and  political  conditions  of 
the  country.  And  the  work  was  to  have  an  ultimate 
object — to  set  before  the  German  people  an  ideal 
which  would  inaugurate  a new  era  in  their  national 
culture.  For  the  carrying  out  of  such  a work  Goethe 
knew  that  his  own  resources  were  inadequate,  and 
it  was  to  be  achieved  in  collaboration  with  the  man 
who,  in  his  opinion,  was  the  most  competent  to 
supplement  his  deficiencies.  He  was  that  Heinrich 
Meyer  who  had  rendered  him  such  valuable  services 
in  his  artistic  studies  during  his  first  Italian  journey, 

1 He  had  eventually  to  change  his  quarters  in  Jena  owing  to  an  illness 
which  he  believed  he  had  contracted  in  a damp  chamber  in  the  Schloss. 


FRANKFORT  REVISITED  457 

whom  in  1791  he  had  taken  in  as  a housemate  and 
had  appointed  teacher  of  drawing  in  the  Art  School 
at  Weimar.  In  1794  the  first  step  was  taken  towards 
the  accomplishment  of  their  common  task.  In  that 
year  Meyer  was  sent  to  study  the  art  treasures  of 
Dresden,  where  Goethe  j oined  him  for  a time,  and  in 
the  autumn  of  the  same  year  Meyer  proceeded  to 
Italy  where,  at  the  Duke’s  expense,  he  was  commis- 
sioned to  obtain  copies  of  such  representative  works 
of  art  as  might  be  needful  for  the  contemplated 
history.  It  had  been  Goethe’s  intention  to  join 
Meyer  in  Italy,  but  Napoleon’s  campaigns  in  that 
country  and  other  obstacles  had  prevented  him  from 
carrying  it  into  execution.  In  1797  Meyer  fell  ill, 
and  was  forced  to  return  to  Switzerland,  where  at 
Stafa,  his  native  place,  it  was  arranged  that  Goethe 
should  visit  him. 

How  seriously  he  regarded  his  contemplated 
journey  is  shown  by  the  preparations  he  made  for 
it.  He  burned  all  the  letters  he  had  received  since 
1772  to  prevent  their  publication,  and  he  made  his 
will  and  secured  from  his  mother  the  assurance  that 
she  would  leave  all  she  possessed  to  Christiane  and 
his  son.  For  all  his  intended  observations  by  the 
way  he  made  careful  preparation,  and  he  arranged 
that  a secretary  should  accompany  him.  Frankfort 
was  to  be  his  first  halting-place,  and  thither,  on 
July  30,  he  set  out,  accompanied  by  Christiane 
and  his  son.  For  the  first  time,  he  says,  he  tho- 
roughly enjoyed  a journey  from  Thuringia  to  the 
Main,  and  never  since  he  had  left  it  did  he  have  such 
a pleasant  sojourn  in  Frankfort.  As  the  paternal 
house  had  been  sold,  his  mother  now  occupied  another 
residence  where  she  received  her  son.  For  reasons 
which  we  can  understand,  other  quarters  were  found 
for  Christiane,  whom  nevertheless  Frau  Goethe 
seems  at  once  to  have  taken  to  her  heart.  “ An 
unspoiled  creature  of  God  ” she  described  her  in 
her  vivid  way,  and  thenceforward  she  treated  her 
with  the  overflowing  kindness  that  came  to  her 


458  THE  SCHILLER  PERIOD 

instinctively.1  As  Christiane’s  presence  may  have 
been  embarrassing,  she  and  the  boy  were  sent  home 
after  a few  days,  while  Goethe  himself  remained  till 
August  25.  The  way  in  which  he  spent  his  time 
during  these  weeks  in  Frankfort  illustrates  his  proce- 
dure at  all  the  chief  halting-places  in  his  journey. 
He  sought  the  company  of  the  most  distinguished 
men  in  their  respective  departments,  and  diligently 
collected  materials  relative  to  the  social  and  civic 
life  of  the  community.  From  Frankfort  he  wrote 
to  Schiller  that  in  a blank  book  he  had  stitched 
together  a collection  of  daily  and  weekly  newspapers, 
extracts  from  sermons,  ordinances,  play-bills,  and 
price  lists,  for  his  future  use  and  as  an  interesting 
record  of  his  travels.  To  the  theatre  of  Frankfort — 
its  management,  its  repertory,  its  actors — he  gave 
special  attention,  as  directing  the  aesthetic  standard 
of  its  citizens  and  as  suggesting  hints  to  himself  as 
Director  of  the  theatre  at  Weimar.  When  in  the  last 
week  of  August  Goethe  left  Frankfort,  it  was  with 
a regret  he  had  felt  on  the  occasion  of  no  previous 
visit.  And  his  feeling  would  have  been  quickened 
had  he  known  that  he  had  seen  his  mother  for  the 
last  time. 

Leaving  Frankfort  on  August  25,  he  proceeded 
by  way  of  Heidelberg,  Heilbronn,  Ludwigsburg, 
Stuttgart,  Tubingen,  Scliaffhausen,  and  Zurich,  and 
on  September  21  arrived  at  Stafa,  where  Meyer  was 
awaiting  him.  His  meeting  with  Meyer  he  describes 
as  “ the  chief  gain  ” of  his  journey.  During  a week 
they  spent  together,  Meyer  displayed  the  art  treasures 
he  had  brought  from  Italy,  and  their  talk  ran  on  the 
great  work  which  they  were  to  accomplish  by  their 
united  labours.  On  the  28th,  in  company  with  Meyer, 
he  continued  his  journey — his  goal  being  the  St. 
Gotliard,  which  he  now  visited  for  the  third  time. 
His  feelings  there  on  each  occasion  are  a commentary 

1 She  continued  to  send  affectionate  letters  and  presents  to  her,  but 
always,  at  the  same  time,  took  occasion  to  exhort  her  to  attend  to  (he 
comforts  of  the  Geheimrath. 


ON  THE  ST.  GOTHARD 


459 


on  the  successive  steps  of  his  life.  In  1775,  when 
in  his  26th  year,  it  was  with  a mind  racked  by  the 
conflicting  emotions  occasioned  by  his  relations  to 
Lili  Schonemann  that  he  had  longingly  regarded  the 
path  which  led  to  Italy  and  which  only  the  thought 
of  Lili  prevented  him  from  pursuing.  Four  years 
later,  when  he  stood  on  the  St.  Gothard,  it  was  in  the 
company  of  the  Duke  of  Weimar,  and  it  was  then 
another  woman  who  was  the  magnet  that  drew  him 
home.  On  the  occasion  of  his  present  visit  he  had 
no  intention  of  continuing  his  journey  to  Italy,  but 
Schiller,  it  appears,  was  apprehensive  lest  the  tempta- 
tion should  prove  too  strong  for  him,  and  in  a letter 
to  Meyer  earnestly  besought  him  to  avert  what  he 
considered  would  be  a misfortune.  Another  visit 
to  Italy,  Schiller  wrote,  would  only  further  distract 
Goethe’s  mind  from  fruitful  production. 

It  was  apparently  while  Goethe  was  on  the 
St.  Gothard  that  he  received  news  which  deeply  moved 
him.  Among  the  actors  and  actresses  in  whom  he 
had  taken  a professional  interest,  Christiane  Neumann 
had  from  her  childhood  specially  attracted  him  by 
her  dramatic  talent  and  the  beauty  of  her  nature. 
His  interest  in  her  talent,  he  says,  had  often  revived 
his  flagging  interest  in  the  theatre,  while  her  lovable 
character  had  inspired  his  deep  affection.  He  had 
left  her  in  Weimar  ill  with  a mortal  disease,  and  the 
news  of  her  death  now  reached  him.  “ A loving 
and  honouring  memorial,”  he  wrote  in  the  notes  of 
his  journey,  “ is  all  that  we  can  give  to  the  dead  ” ; 
and  immediately  on  the  news  of  Christiane’ s death 
he  began  the  elegy  Eu'phrosyne,1  which,  devoted 
to  the  memory  of  Christiane,  is  one  of  the  most 
touching  things  he  ever  wrote. 

On  October  8 the  travellers  were  again  in 
Stafa,  where  they  spent  the  next  fortnight — Goethe 
occupied  in  learning  all  he  could  about  the  place 
and  its  neighbourhood.  Now,  also,  he  conceived 

1 It  was  as  Euphrosyne,  a character  in  an  opera,  that  Goethe  had  last 
seen  her  on  the  stage  in  Weimar. 


460  THE  SCHILLER  PERIOD 

the  plan  of  one  of  the  many  abortive  works  that 
strew  his  literary  career.  Having  seen  with  his 
own  eyes  the  country  of  Tell,  it  struck  him  that  by 
poetic  treatment  the  legend  of  Tell  might  be  presented 
in  its  true  significance,  and  that  the  epic  form  would 
be  the  best  adapted  to  the  subj  ect.  He  long  dallied 
with  the  project,  which  eventually  came  to  nothing, 
and  its  only  importance  is  that  he  suggested  the 
theme  to  Schiller,  whose  Wilhelm  Tell  was  the 
memorable  result. 

So  pleasant  and  profitable  had  Goethe  found  his 
stajr  in  Switzerland  that  he  was  tempted  to  prolong 
it  till  the  following  spring  when,  as  circumstances 
should  determine,  he  might  proceed  to  Italy  or 
France.  The  idea  was  abandoned,  and,  accompanied 
by  Meyer,  he  began  his  journey  homeward  by  way 
of  Zurich,  where  he  spent  a few  days.  The  mention 
of  Zurich  again  reminds  us  of  the  various  stages  of 
development  in  Goethe’s  life,  for  Zurich  was  the  home 
of  Lavater.  In  his  first  Swiss  journey  his  first  act 
on  his  arrival  at  Zurich  had  been  to  seek  out  Lavater 
who,  reporting  to  Wieland  his  impression  of  Goethe, 
had  declared  him  to  be  “ the  most  lovable,  most 
affable,  most  charming  of  men.”  The  principal 
object  of  his  second  journey  to  Switzerland  had 
been  the  hope  that  Lavater’s  personality  would  have 
a beneficial  influence  on  the  Duke.  The  result  had 
fulfilled  his  expectations,  and  he  himself  had  not 
found  language  strong  enough  to  express  his  admira- 
tion for  the  beauty  of  Lavater’s  character  and  life. 
But  eveiy  year  since,  Lavater  and  Goethe  had  been 
drifting  further  apart.  Fundamentally  different  by 
nature,  each  had  followed  his  own  lights  and  arrived 
at  a point  of  view  that  made  intercourse  with  the  other 
impossible.  So  it  was  that  Goethe  now  passed  by 
Lavater’s  door,  and  no  attempt  >was  made  by  either 
to  revive  what  had  been. 1 

On  October  26  Goethe  and  Meyer  left  Zurich, 

1 Lavater  knew  that  Goethe  was  in  Zurich  as  he  had  called  on  their 
common  friend  Barbara  Schulthess,  who  had  received  him  coldly. 


DANGEROUS  ILLNESS  461 

travelled  by  way  of  Nuremberg,  where  they  met 
Knebel  and  spent  some  days,  and  on  November  19 
were  at  home  in  Weimar.  Goethe’s  visit  to  Switzer- 
land was  the  last  extensive  journey  that  he  under- 
took with  a cultural  object,  and  we  have  seen  the 
importance  he  attached  to  it.  The  great  work  which 
he  had  contemplated,  a history  of  Italian  art,  was 
never  executed,  but  he  was  subsequently  able  to 
utilize  part  of  the  materials  he  had  collected  in  the 
course  of  his  journey.1  Moreover,  it  was  one  of  his 
charges  to  his  secretary,  Eckermann,  that  after  his 
death  the  diary  of  his  travels,  with  letters  written 
to  friends  throughout  it,  should  be  published  as  a 
record  of  interest  and  value  to  the  world. 2 

The  occasion  of  Goethe’s  other  prolonged  journey 
(1801)  was  one  of  those  critical  illnesses  which,  at 
more  than  one  period,  threatened  to  cut  short  his 
life.  Such  an  illness  had  prostrated  him  on  his 
return  from  Leipzig  in  August,  1768,  when  he  long 
hung  between  life  and  death.  Though  naturally 
of  a robust  and  powerful  frame,  his  constitution 
was  subject  to  minor  maladies,  frequently  followed 
by  a more  or  less  serious  crisis.  On  the  2nd  of 
January,  1801,  he  complained  of  feeling  ill,  the  result, 
he  thought,  of  working  too  long  in  a damp  chamber 
in  the  Schloss  in  Jena.  His  illness,  which  began 
with  a catarrhal  cold,  developed  into  erysipelas  in 
the  face  which  closed  his  right  eye,  while  a tumour 
on  the  back  of  the  neck  and  head  threatened  his 
brain.  For  several  days  he  wTas  in  a state  of  uncon- 
sciousness, and  his  life  hung  in  the  balance.  None 
of  his  friends  showed  more  anxiety  than  the  Duke, 
who  summoned  from  Jena  a physician  of  repute. 
Dr.  Starke,  to  whose  skill  Goethe  mainly  attributed 
his  recovery.  The  critical  day  was  the  9th,  after 
which  his  illness  took  a favourable  turn  and  there 
was  a gradual  convalescence.  On  the  22nd  he  was 

1 In  the  Propylden,  a journal  of  art,  which  he  subsequently  edited. 

2 It  appears  in  the  Weimar  edition  of  Goethe’s  works  as  collated  with 
the  original  MS. 


462  THE  SCHILLER  PERIOD 

so  far  recovered  that  he  was  able  to  have  a musical 
party  at  his  house  when  Schiller  and  other  friends 
were  present ; 1 and  on  the  24th  his  right  eye  opened. 
It  was  a gratification,  to  which  he  gave  the  warmest 
expression,  that  his  friends  and  even  comparative 
strangers  had  manifested  for  his  recovery  an  affec- 
tionate concern  which  in  some  cases  surprised  him. 
Christiane’s  devoted  care  deeply  moved  him  ; the 
Duke  had  shown  that  there  was  no  diminution  of 
affection  on  his  side  ; and  the  Herders,  though  there 
had  long  been  a coldness  between  him  and  them, 
gave  proof  that  old  ties  were  not  forgotten.  Even 
in  Frau  von  Stein  Goethe’s  dangerous  condition 
rekindled  old  feelings.  “ I did  not  know,”  she 
wrote  to  her  son  Fritz,  “ that  our  former  friend  was 
still  so  dear  to  me,  that  a serious  illness  from  which 
he  has  been  suffering  for  nine  days  would  have' 
affected  me  so  much.”  From  Goethe’s  mother  who, 
like  her  son,  shrank  from  all  forms  of  pain,  the  news 
of  his  illness  was  withheld  till  the  crisis  had  passed, 
when  she  wrrote  characteristic  letters  to  him  and 
Christiane,  expressing  her  happiness  that  she  had 
been  kept  in  ignorance  and  her  jubilation  at  his 
recovery. 

By  February  7 he  was  able  in  some  measure  to 
resume  work  (at  the  Walpurgisnacht  in  Faust), 
though  still  feeble  and  dispirited.  Writing  to 
Schiller  on  the  8th,  he  complains  of  his  solitude  and 
declares  that  he  has  lost  all  courage  and  hope.  To- 
wards the  end  of  March  he  went  with  Christiane  to 
his  estate  in  Oberrossla,  which  he  had  purchased  in 
1798,  partly  for  the  good  of  his  health,  and  partly 
to  arrange  for  a new  tenant,  the  former  tenant  having 
made  himself  liable  to  action  at  law.  He  remained 
at  Oberrossla  till  the  close  of  May,  but,  though  his 
health  was  somewhat  improved  by  his  life  in  the  open 
air,  physicians  and  friends  alike  urged  him  to 
complete  his  recovery  by  a course  of  baths. 

. Pyrmont  in  Lippe-Detmold  was  the  place  chosen, 

1 His  first  desire  on  his  recovery,  he  says,  was  to  hear  music. 


CONVALESCENCE  463 

and  accompanied  only  by  his  son  August,  whose 
lively  curiosity  did  much  to  enliven  the  journey,  he 
started  on  June  5 for  Gottingen,  his  first  halting- 
place.  On  the  night  of  his  arrival  he  was  the  object 
of  a demonstration  which,  in  his  despondent  mood, 
was  peculiarly  gratifying.  Against  the  express  order 
of  the  University  authorities,  the  students  appeared 
before  his  hotel,  the  Krone,  and  gave  him  an  enthusi- 
astic ovation.  The  professors  showed  equally  good 
feeling,  and  he  specially  notes  his  intercourse  with 
Blumenbach,  Professor  of  Natural  History,  who 
showed  him  the  first  aerolite  he  had  ever  seen,  and 
with  Heyne,  the  great  classical  scholar,  whose  collec- 
tion of  the  heads  of  Homeric  heroes,  executed  by 
Tischbein,  convinced  him  of  the  truer  conceptions  of 
ancient  art  that  had  gained  acceptance  since  the 
time  when  Lessing  wrote  his  Laocoon.  A sight  of 
a different  kind  particularly  interested  him — the 
riding-ground  at  Gottingen  under  the  charge  of  a 
famous  trainer.  The  sight  of  a horse  and  rider,  he 
solemnly  reflects,  is  almost  the  only  instance  we 
have  in  nature,  of  “purposeful  restraint  in  action, 
the  exclusion  of  anything  arbitrary,  indeed  even 
of  the  element  of  chance.” 

During  the  week  he  spent  in  Gottingen  he  felt 
better  in  health  and  spirits  than  he  had  done  for  a 
long  time,  and  it  was  in  the  hope  of  still  further 
improvement  that  on  June  12  he  proceeded  to 
Pyrmont.  Perversely,  as  it  happened,  during  the 
whole  period  of  his  stay  there  the  weather  was 
stormy  and  wet,  and  the  baths  did  not  prove  so 
beneficial  as  he  expected.  The  result  was  a recur- 
rence of  his  nervous  symptoms,  so  that  even  the 
company  of  the  Duke,  who  joined  him  in  the  course 
of  his  stay,  proved  irksome.  With  such  vigour  as 
was  left  to  him,  he  worked  at  his  Farbenlehre,  and,  as 
usual,  made  a careful  study  of  his  surroundings  and 
their  history.  It  is  an  illustration  at  once  of  his 
susceptibility  to  immediate  impressions  and  of 
his  universal  curiosity  that  he  seriously  thought  of 


464  THE  SCHILLER  PERIOD 

writing  a history  of  Pyrmont,  whose  development 
as  a watering-place  had  specially  interested  him. 
On  July  17  he  left  Pyrmont,  little  the  better,  he  says, 
for  his  residence  there,  and  returned  to  Gottingen, 
where  he  spent  over  a fortnight  mainly  occupied  in 
consulting  books  in  connection  with  the  Farbenlehre, 
and  learning  all  he  could  from  the  professors  of 
anatomy,  botany,  geology,  and  astronomy.  On 
August  15  he  was  at  Cassel  where  he  met  Meyer  and 
Christiane,  with  whom  he  spent  a week  of  pleasure 
in  attending  the  theatre  and  examining  pictures. 
Leaving  his  companions,  he  went  on  alone  (August 
21)  to  the  Court  of  Gotha,  where  Prince  August,  a 
literary  dilettante,  celebrated  Goethe’s  birthday  with 
a festal  repast.1  In  “the  best  of  humours”  he 
arrived  at  Weimar  on  August  30. 

What  strikes  us  in  connection  with  Goethe’s 
various  travels  is  that  they  were  literally  voyages  of 
discovery.  “ Your  son,”  Fraulein  Klettenberg  said 
to  his  mother,  “ sees  more  in  a journey  from  Frank- 
fort to  Strassburg  than  other  men  see  in  a journey 
round  the  world.”  Everywhere  he  went  he  was 
true  to  his  resolve  formed  in  Rome  to  take  nothing 
on  hearsay  but  to  attain  “ living  conceptions  ” of 
things.  It  would  seem  that  the  mere  accumulation 
of  details  had  itself  an  interest  for  him,  but  it  was  on 
the  foundation  formed  of  these  details  that  he  spent 
his  life  in  the  unceasing  endeavour  to  enlarge  his 
vision  of  man  and  of  nature.  And  it  is  just  this 
background  of  living  experience  that  gives  his 
conclusions  a value  and  importance  which  specu- 
lative thinkers  like  Hegel  have  always  recog- 
nized. 

When  not  on  journeys  or  engaged  in  literary 
production  at  Jena,  Goethe  had  various  and  engross- 
ing occupations  in  Weimar.  On  his  return  from  Italy, 
as  we  have  seen,  he  was  relieved  from  all  state 
duties,  but  undertook  the  management  of  the  mines 

1 Baron  Grimm, the  friend  of  Diderot  and  other  Frenchmen  of  letters, 
and  now  exiled  by  the  Revolution,  was  then  the  guest  of  the  Prince. 


THE  WEIMAR  THEATRE  465 

at  Ilmenau,1  the  superintendence  of  the  literary 
and  artistic  institutions  of  the  duchy,  including  the 
University  of  Jena,  and  subsequently  the  director- 
ship of  the  theatre. 

Of  all  these  charges,  if  we  may  judge  from  the 
space  he  devotes  to  it  in  his  narrative  of  these  years,2 
it  was  the  theatre  that  absorbed  most  of  his  time  and 
attention.  On  his  own  testimony  it  was  only  from 
a sense  of  its  educational  importance  that  he  perse- 
vered in  a task  which  brought  him  more  worry  than 
pleasure.  With  the  beginning  of  the  nineties,  he 
says,  his  personal  interest  in  the  theatre  was  gone. 
In  a moment  of  irritation,  in  1795,  he  had  even 
threatened  to  resign  the  directorship  of  the  theatre, 
and  had  consented  to  retain  it  only  on  the  Duke’s 
promising  to  remove  certain  causes  of  friction  that 
had  arisen.  He  became  more  and  more  convinced, 
however,  that  the  charge  was  unbecoming  one  in 
his  position,  and,  in  1797,  he  proposed  to  the  Duke 
that  Iffiand,  the  first  actor  of  the  day,  should  be 
appointed  in  his  place — a proposal  to  which  the  Duke 
refused  to  accede. 3 

As  it  happened,  in  1797  certain  new  influences 
revived  Goethe’s  interest  in  the  theatre,  and  stimu- 
lated him  to  renewed  efforts  for  its  improvement. 
A new  actress  trained  by  Iffiand,  Caroline  J agemann, 
was  secured  for  the  company  and  excited  emulation 
among  the  other  players.  At  this  time,  also,  the 
popularity  of  the  plays  of  Iffiand  and  Kotzebue  had 
quickened  general  interest  in  the  stage.  Moreover, 
Goethe’s  association  with  Schiller,  whose  genius  was 
mainly  directed  to  the  drama,  involved  an  active 
superintendence  of  the  'personnel  and  of  the  equip- 
ment of  the  boards.  When,  in  1798,  Iffiand  visited 
Weimar  and  appeared  on  eight  successive  nights, 
his  acting  raised  such  enthusiasm  that,  with  general 
approval,  Goethe  resolved  to  give  effect  to  a desire 
he  had  long  entertained.  The  new  theatre  which 

1 The  mines  had  proved  a failure.  2 Tag-  und  Jahreshefte. 

3 I ffland  was  appointed  Director  of  the  Berlin  theatre. 

VOL.  II.  F 


466 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 


had  been  built  in  1790  had  been  found  wanting  in 
attractiveness  and  inadequate  in  scale,  and,  under 
the  superintendence  of  a skilled  architect,  it  was  now 
enlarged  and  beautified. 

On  October  12,  1798,  the  improved  theatre  was 
opened  with  a representation  of  Wallensteins  Lager, 
and  in  the  following  years  the  other  great  plays  of 
Schiller  were  successively  produced— Die  Picco- 
lomini  (1799) ; Wallensteins  Tod  and  Maria  Stuart 
(1800)  ; Die  Braut  von  Messina  and  Die  Jungfrau 
von  Orleans  (1803)  ; and  Wilhelm  Tell  (1804).  Henry 
Crabb  Robinson,  who  was  present  at  the  production 
of  Wallensteins  Tod,  thus  records  his  impression 
of  the  spectacle.  “ The  theatre  at  this  time  was 
unique  ; its  managers  were  Goethe  and  Schiller,  who 
exhibited  there  the  works  which  were  to  become 
standards  and  models  of  dramatic  literature.  Schiller 
had  his  seat  near  the  Ducal  box,  Goethe  an  armchair 
in  the  centre  of  the  first  row  in  the  pit.  I found  my- 
self here  in  an  elegant  apartment,  so  lightly  and 
classically  adorned,  and  so  free  and  easy  in  its  aspect, 
that  I almost  forgot  where  I was.  In  the  pit  the 
seats  are  all  numbered,  each  person  has  his  own, 
and  each  seat  has  arms.  The  single  row  of  boxes 
is  supported  by  elegant  pillars,  under  which  the  pit 
loungers  stroll  at  leisure.  The  gentlemen  go  into 
the  pit,  when  they  do  not,  as  courteous  cavaliers, 
wait  behind  the  chairs  of  their  fair  friends.  The 
box  in  front  is  occupied  by  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
with  their  suite,  of  course  without  the  dull  formality 
attending  a Rojml  presence  at  Drury  Lane.  I beheld 
Schiller  1 a great  part  of  the  evening,  leaning  over 
the  Ducal  box,  and  chatting  with  the  family.” 

The  aim  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  in  their  conduct 
of  the  Weimar  theatre  was  that  of  all  their  artistic 
striving — to  elevate  the  national  taste  by  the  present- 
ment of  the  highest  ideals.  What  these  ideals  in  the 
drama  were,  we  already  know ; in  the  tragedy  of 
the  Greeks  they  found  the  most  perfect  models  for 
1 By  this  date  (1803)  Schiller  was  resident  in  Weimar. 


THE  WEIMAR  THEATRE  467 

imitation,  and  each  in  his  own  way  sought  to 
reproduce  them,  though,  so  far  as  popular  acceptance 
is  concerned,  Schiller  achieved  the  greater  success. 
While  Schiller’s  plays  were  for  the  most  part  received 
with  enthusiasm,  Goethe’s  Iphigenie  and  Die  natiir- 
liche  Tochter  were  failures.  In  their  endeavour  to 
impose  the  classical  drama  on  the  German  public, 
the  two  poets  were  going  counter  to  the  general  taste, 
which  preferred  the  sensational  plays  of  Kotzebue 
even  to  those  of  Schiller.  But  the  opposition  only 
hardened  them  in  their  attempt,  and  both  were 
led  into  extremes  which  are  a remarkable  commen- 
tary on  their  past.  Both  had  begun  their  dramatic 
careers  with  a supreme  contempt  for  the  French 
classical  drama.  Now,  in  the  excess  of  their  zeal 
and  in  the  teeth  of  adverse  criticism,  they  insisted 
on  producing  French  plays  with  the  same  object  of 
educating  the  public  to  the  appreciation  of  what 
they  considered  a higher  form  of  art.1  And  not 
only  in  the  character  of  the  plays  produced,  but  in 
the  attitudes  of  the  actors  Goethe  insisted  on  a formal 
stateliness  which  gave  them  the  appearance  of 
automata.  For  example,  they  were  not  to  show  their 
profiles  or  their  backs  to  the  audience,  and  their 
gestures  were  regulated  with  pedantic  precision. 

What  was  the  result  of  the  many  years’  labour 
which  Goethe  thus  spent  in  the  endeavour  to  raise 
the  public  taste  by  theatrical  representations  ? 
He  has  himself  answered  the  question,  though 
perhaps  in  a despondent  moment.  In  a letter  to 
his  friend  Zelter  (December  30,  1825)  he  writes  as 
follows : “Now  that  I no  longer  go  to  the  theatre, 

and  have  no  other  concern  with  it,  but  have  merely 
to  watch  my  children  and  a new  generation  growing 
up,  curious  lights  dawn  upon  me.  . . . Only  now 
do  I appreciate  the  unsatisfactory  character  of  the 
Danald-like  work  of  these  many  years,  during  which 

1 Goethe  translated  for  the  Weimar  stage  Voltaire’s  Tancred  and 
Mahomet — the  latter  at  the  request  of  the  Duke,  who  was  an  admirer  of 
French  plays. 


468  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

I endeavoured  to  bring  to  fruition  the  really  great 
advantages  pertaining  to  the  stage  and  to  give  them 
concrete  form.”  Doubtless  Goethe  here  underesti- 
mates the  result  of  his  toil  in  connection  with  the 
Weimar  theatre ; we  know  that  his  name  and 
example  have  materially  contributed  to  determine  the 
place  which  the  stage  has  maintained  in  the  national 
life  of  Germany.  Nevertheless  there  is  occasion  to 
regret  that  the  time  and  labour  he  spent  in  meeting 
the  demands  that  the  theatre  made  upon  him  were 
not  given  to  tasks  more  congenial  to  his  natural  gifts 
and  of  more  permanent  value  to  the  world. 

Goethe  himself  did  not  regard  his  manifold 
external  activities  as  detrimental  to  his  work  in 
literature.  They  were  undertaken  primarily  in  the 
interests  of  the  public,  but  it  was  his  lifelong  convic- 
tion that  only  by  continually  widened  experience  can 
the  work  of  the  poet  or  artist  maintain  its  freshness 
and  richness  of  content.  So  it  was  that  he  was  ever 
on  the  outlook  for  new  fields  of  activity  in  which  he 
could  enrich  his  own  experience.  In  1798,  as  we 
have  seen,  he  had,  against  the  advice  of  his  mother, 
bought  an  estate  at  Oberrossla,  not  so  much  with 
the  intention  of  possessing  a rural  retreat,  as  of 
gaining  a practical  knowledge  of  agriculture.  As 
long  as  the  estate  remained  in  his  hands,  he  spent 
weeks  at  a time  in  acquainting  himself  with  farming 
operations,  though  his  mother’s  advice  was  justified, 
as  troubles  with  successive  tenants  forced  him  to 
dispose  of  it  in  1803.  In  building  he  had  been 
interested  at  all  periods  of  his  life,  and  when,  in 
1791  a new  palace  in  Weimar  was  begun,  no  detail 
of  the  architecture  was  undertaken  without  his 
direct  superintendence  till  the  completion  of  the 
work  in  1803.1  In  1799  he  made  a new  experiment 
with  the  object  of  promoting  the  study  of  art  and 
improving  the  public  taste.  Annual  prizes  were 
offered  for  works  of  art,  the  subjects  to  be  suggested 
by  scenes  in  the  Homeric  poems.  The  prizes  were 

1 The  work  was  delayed  by  the  French  wars. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  JENA  469 

awarded  for  seven  successive  years,  and  on  each 
occasion,  in  his  publication  the  Propylden , he  gave 
an  estimate  of  the  works  of  the  successful  com- 
petitors. He  attached  especial  importance  to  the 
Friday  Evening  Society  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
he  had  founded  in  1791.  During  the  period  before 
us  the  Society  was  in  its  greatest  vigour.  Its 
members,  among  whom  were  professors  from  Jena, 
represented  literature,  science  and  art,  and  their 
meetings  were  devoted  to  the  reading  of  papers  and 
discussion  of  their  contents.  The  work  of  the  Society, 
Goethe  assures  us,  had  a highly  beneficial  influence 
on  the  University  of  Jena. 

The  University  of  Jena  was  one  of  the  institutions 
for  whose  interests  he  was  responsible,  and  he  gave 
it  his  sedulous  care.  Poetry,  as  represented  in 
Weimar,  and  science,  as  represented  in  Jena,  made 
the  chief  glory  of  the  Duke’s  dominions,  and  to 
maintain  that  glory  was  one  of  the  enlightened 
reasons  which  influenced  the  Duke  in  attaching 
Goethe  to  his  Court.  In  greater  degree  than  the 
theatre  the  University  evoked  Goethe’s  interest, 
and  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  flattering 
results  from  his  fostering  care  of  it.  During  the 
years  1790-1800,  Jena  had  a larger  attendance  of 
students  and  a more  distinguished  band  of  professors 
than  any  other  university  in  Germany.  As  in  the 
case  of  the  theatre,  however,  he  had  to  encounter 
difficulties  of  administration  which  only  patient 
persistence  could  overcome.  The  French  Revolution 
had  excited  among  the  teaching  staff  a spirit  of  unrest 
and  a desire  for  greater  academic  freedom,  which  was, 
in  Goethe’s  conception,  incompatible  with  a due 
respect  for  authority.  One  recalcitrant  professor 
gave  him  special  trouble.  In  1794  Professor  Rein- 
hold, who  had  been  the  exponent  of  the  Kantian 
philosophy,  left  Jena,  and  his  place  was  filled  by 
Fichte  who  proceeded  to  expound  a philosophy  of 
his  own — the  famous  doctrine  that  the  external 
world  is  merely  the  creation  of  the  individual  ego. 


470 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 


Fichte  is  one  of  the  heroic  figures  in  German 
history,  and  was  of  essentially  noble  nature,  but, 
as  Goethe  remarks,  he  found  it  difficult  to  adjust 
himself  to  a world  which  was  of  his  own  creation. 
Before  long  he  found  himself  in  trouble  in  his  new 
surroundings.  On  being  deprived  of  certain  lecture 
hours  on  week-days,  he  proposed  to  supplement 
them  by  lecturing  on  Sundays— a proposal  which 
did  not  commend  itself  to  the  authorities.  To  the 
students  also  he  gave  such  ground  of  offence  that 
they  rose  in  riot  and  broke  his  windows — “ a most 
unpleasant  way,”  comments  Goethe,  “ of  being 
convinced  of  a Non- Ego.”  In  1799  came  a final 
breach  with  the  authorities  which  resulted  in  his 
dismissal.  Certain  articles  which  appeared  in  a 
philosophical  journal  of  which  he  was  editor  were 
interpreted  as  tending  to  atheism,  a charge  which 
Fichte  indignantty  repudiated.  The  Elector  of 
Saxony,  concerned  for  the  faith  of  his  subj  ects,  wrote 
to  the  Duke  of  Weimar  to  say  that,  if  Fichte  were 
allowed  to  teach  atheistical  opinions,  he  would 
prohibit  students  from  his  dominions  from  attending 
the  University  of  Jena.  The  Duke  and  his  Council, 
of  which  Goethe  was  a member,  resolved  in  the 
interests  of  the  University  to  pass  censure  on  Fichte, 
but  before  the  resolution  was  made  public,  Fichte 
wrote  a violent  letter  to  C.  G.  Voigt,  the  Duke’s 
chief  minister,  in  which  he  threatened  to  resign  if 
his  freedom  of  teaching  were  curtailed.  This  was 
considered  an  act  of  insubordination  which  could 
not  be  passed  over,  and  it  was  intimated  to  Fichte 
that  his  services  were  no  longer  required.  Goethe 
consented  to  this  high-handed  action  with  sincere 
regret,  as  he  had  a real  regard  for  Fichte’s  character 
and  abilities,  but,  as  mainly  responsible  for  the 
welfare  of  the  university,  he  felt  that  no  other  course 
was  open  to  him.  Yet  there  is  something  of  irony 
in  the  fact  that  he,  who  at  this  period  of  his  life 
gloried  in  the  name  of  Pagan,  should  be  the  censor 
of  opinions  less  destructive  to  the  principles  of 


FICHTE  AND  OTHERS  471 

existing  society  than  his  own.  It  was  the  penalty 
he  had  to  pay  for  all  the  advantages  which  the 
conditions  of  his  life  in  Weimar  had  brought 

him. 

But  more  serious  trouble  than  the  affair  of  Fichte 
awaited  him  in  connection  with  Jena.  During  the 
closing  years  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  the  opening 
years  of  the  nineteenth,  there  was  a veritable  exodus 
of  professors  from  the  university  ; some  induced  by 
the  offers  of  higher  emoluments,  others  by  the 
prospect  of  greater  freedom  of  teaching.  Among 
those  who  went  were  some  who  had  been  the  chief 
ornaments  of  the  University — Loder,  the  professor 
of  anatomy,  to  whose  instruction  in  that  science 
Goethe  had  owed  so  much,  Paulus,  the  professor  of 
oriental  languages,  and  Schelling,  the  most  brilliant 
of  the  younger  philosophers  in  Germany.  More 
alarming  for  the  future  of  the  University  than  even 
the  flight  of  professors  was  the  action  of  one  of  them — 
C.  G.  Schiitz,  professor  of  history.  Since  1785  Schiitz 
had  been  a co-editor  of  the  Allgemeine  Liter atur- 
zeitung , the  most  influential  journal  of  its  kind 
in  Germany.  In  1803,  on  his  appointment  to 
a Chair  in  the  University  of  Halle,  he  laid  a plan 
for  transferring  the  journal  to  that  town.  In 
Goethe’s  opinion,  this  would  have  involved  the  ruin 
of  the  University  of  Jena,  and,  with  an  expenditure 
of  energy  that  affected  his  health,  he  set  himself 
to  establish  another  journal  in  its  place.  His  efforts 
were  successful,  and  under  the  title  of  the  Jenaische 
Allgemeine  Literaturzeitung  the  new  journal  appeared 
on  January  1,  1804,  with  Goethe  as  its  editor,  sup- 
ported by  an  excellent  band  of  contributors.1 

Goethe  notes  as  one  of  the  results  of  his  friend- 
ship with  Schiller  that  it  brought  him  more  freely 
into  contact  with  his  contemporaries.  Till  that 
friendship  began  he  had  lived  in  comparative  isola- 
tion, even  Herder  and  Wieland  being  no  longer  in 
sympathy  with  him.  Through  his  joint  endeavour 

1 Goethe  continued  to  edit  it  for  three  years. 


472  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

with  Schiller,  however,  he  came  into  fruitful  inter- 
course with  the  leading  spirits  of  the  time— a time 
of  brilliant  promise  in  the  intellectual  history  of 
Germany.  In  every  department  of  mental 
effort — in  literature,  in  science,  in  philosophy — there 
were  initiators  who  were  opening  up  new  kingdoms 
to  be  conquered,  and  it  was  Goethe’s  good  fortune  to 
come  into  personal  touch  with  the  most  significant 
of  them.  All  were  men  much  younger  than  himself, 
but,  with  that  openness  of  mind  to  new  ideas  which 
characterized  him  to  the  last,  he  took  in  what  they 
had  to  give  him  and  assimilated  what  profited 
himself. 

After  Schiller  it  was  to  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt 
that  Goethe  acknowledged  his  greatest  debt. 
Humboldtwas  a sympathizing  and  active  collaborator 
in  the  joint  endeavour  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  to  elevate 
the  public  taste  in  art  and  literature,  and  no  one 
entered  so  fully  into  their  spirit  and  had  such  a 
comprehension  of  their  respective  natural  gifts. 
He  was  at  one  with  them  in  their  ideals  of  art  and  in 
their  admiration  of  the  Greeks,  and  to  what  he  had 
to  say  on  their  own  productions  both  attached  a 
decisive  importance.  It  was  in  matters  of  art  and 
literature  that  Goethe  found  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt 
stimulating  and  helpful ; to  Wilhelm’s  brother, 
Alexander,  he  was  indebted  in  other  fields.  In 
Alexander,  with  his  universal  intellectual  interests, 
Goethe  found  a congenial  spirit  particularly  in 
natural  science,  and  to  his  fruitful  intercourse  with 
him  in  conversation  and  in  subsequent  correspon- 
dence he  bore  frequent  testimony.  Yet  the  bond 
between  him  and  the  Humboldts  was  essentially  an 
intellectual  one  ; some  latent  antipathies  seem  to 
have  precluded  a mutual  approach  of  hearts  such  as 
we  find  in  Goethe’s  relations  with  other  correspon- 
dents. 

There  were  others  besides  the  Humboldts  in  whose 
ideas  and  aspirations  Goethe  found  stimulus  and 
refreshment,  and  among  these  he  specially  notes 


SCHELLING  AND  SCHLEGEL  473 

Schelling  who,  in  1798,  had  succeeded  Fichte  as 
Professor  of  Philosophy  in  Jena.  In  that  year, 
when  he  was  only  twenty-three,  had  appeared 
Schelling’s  book  on  the  Weltseele,  in  which  there 
was  much  that  appealed  to  Goethe  as  presenting 
a view  of  nature  that  in  some  degree  accorded  with 
his  own.  Nature,  in  Schelling’s  view,  is  the  embodi- 
ment of  a process  by  which  spirit  rises  to  conscious- 
ness of  itself,  and  so  far  Goethe  was  in  agreement 
with  him,1  but  when  Schelling  contended  that  the 
affinity  of  spirit  with  Nature  rendered  empirical 
inquiry  into  its  laws  unnecessary,  Goethe,  with  his 
profound  conviction  of  the  value  of  experiment, 
parted  company  with  him.  Nevertheless,  in  letters 
both  to  Schelling  and  to  others,  he  warmly  testifies 
to  the  pleasure  and  profit  he  derived  from  the 
writings  and  conversation  of  the  brilliant  young 
philosopher. 

To  another  youth,  whose  name  like  those  of  the 
Humboldts  and  of  Schelling,  became  familiar  to 
educated  Europe,  Goethe  acknowledges  a lasting 
obligation.  This  was  A.  W.  Sclilegel,  who  was 
settled  in  Jena  as  a professor  of  literature  from  1796 
to  1800.  Before  his  coming  to  Jena,  Schlegel  had 
written  acute  and  appreciative  estimates  of  Goethe’s 
writings,  so  that  the  way  was  paved  for  friendly 
intercourse  between  them.  Schlegel’ s ideals  in  lite- 
rature at  this  period  were  Goethe’s  own,  and  Goethe 
pays  the  highest  tribute  to  his  keen  critical  intelli- 
gence and  remarkable  attainments ; Schlegel’s 
presence  in  Jena,  he  says,  was  for  me  gewinnreich. 
But  the  bond  between  them  was  to  be  of  short 
duration.  Schlegel’ s personal  character  made  cordial 
human  relations  impossible,  and  his  subsequent 
literary  career  led  to  an  estrangement  between  them 
which  finally  grew  into  lively  antipathy.  More 
lasting  were  Goethe’s  relations  with  another  man  of 
riper  age  whose  acquaintance  he  also  made  at  this 
time — F.  A.  Wolf,  the  renowned  classical  scholar. 

1 Goethe’s  poem,  Weltseele,  is  inspired  by  Schelling’s  book. 


474  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

Wolf’s  Prolegomena  to  Homer,  attacking  the  single 
authorship  of  the  Homeric  poems,  had  appeared  in 
1795,  and  Goethe,  as  a lifelong  student  of  Homer, 
was  keenly  interested  in  the  controversy  it  provoked. 1 
Wolf’s  remarkable  personality  made  him  somewhat 
difficult  of  access,  but  between  him  and  Goethe 
there  was  a mutual  regard  and  affection  -which 
ensured  a steady  friendship.  To  spend  a day  with 
Wolf,  Goethe  wrote,  is  to  gain  a whole  year’s  solid 
instruction.2 

It  was  mainly  during  his  long  residences  in  Jena 
that  Goethe  had  the  opportunity  of  enjoying  the 
society  of  such  men  as  those  that  have  just  been 
named.  But  in  Weimar  itself  he  was  visited  by 
persons  more  or  less  remarkable,  whose  impressions 
of  him  are  contributions  to  our  knowledge  of  his 
personality.  Goethe,  Schiller  tells  us,  was  not  exactly 
a person  to  set  people  at  their  ease,  and  the  conflicting 
reports  of  his  various  visitors  illustrate  the  truth 
of  the  remark.  We  have  seen  what  impression  he 
made  on  the  Englishman,  Crabb  Robinson, — that  of 
the  gentleman  combined  with  the  great  man.  It 
was  another  aspect  of  him  that  struck  the  poet 
Holderlin,  who,  entering  his  presence  with  quaking, 
found  his  manner  that  of  “ a good,  kindly  father.” 
Very  different  was  his  demeanour  to  another  poet, 
with  whom  he  had  had  some  acquaintance  in  his 
early  youth — the  poet  Burger.  When  on  presenting 
himself  Burger  began  : “You  are  Goethe  ; I am 
Burger,”  the  remainder  of  the  interview  was  made 
so  uncomfortable  for  him,  that  his  wounded  vanity 
stung  him  to  the  composition  of  a vindictive  epigram 
and  to  an  outpouring  of  malevolent  gossip  at  Goethe's 
expense.  Of  special  interest  is  the  report  of  another 
visitor  of  Goethe,  Jean  Paul ; as,  taken  with  that  of 
Heine  of  a later  date,  it  has  helped  to  create  an  image 
of  Goethe  which  is  certainly  misleading  in  the  light 

1 Goethe  at  first  accepted  Wolf's  view,  but  subsequently  became  a 
convinced  believer  in  the  unity  of  the  Homeric  poems. 

2 Wolf  calls  Goethe  “ the  noble,  dear  Goethe.” 


ILLUSTRIOUS  VISITORS  475 

of  other  testimony.  As  Jean  Paul  describes  his 
interview,  Goethe  entered  the  room  in  which  he 
awaited  him,  “ cold,  monosyllabic,  ohne  Accent ,” 
though  in  the  course  of  the  conversation  that 
followed,  the  “god”  so  far  thawed  that  he  read 
aloud  a poem,  in  tones  comparable  only  to  deep 
thunder  accompanied  by  the  murmur  of  a gentle 
rain.  — ^ 

But  the  most  illustrious  visitor  to  Weimar  during 
the  Schiller  years  was  Madame  de  Stael,  who  at  the 
close  of  1803  came  in  search  of  materials  for  her 
famous  book  1 in  which  she  was  to  reveal  the  mind  of 
Germany  to  France.  Both  Schiller  and  Goethe  were 
acquainted  with  her  writings  and  had  a high  regard 
for  her  talent,  and  in  herself,  as  the  brilliant  repre- 
sentative of  a culture  so  different  from  their  own, 
she  was  a unique  apparition  in  Weimar.  Unfortu- 
nately she  appeared  at  a moment  when  Goethe  was 
not  in  the  best  of  moods  to  appreciate  her.  At  the 
time  of  her  arrival  he  was  in  Jena  deep  in  his  troubles 
connected  with  the  removal  of  the  Allgemeine  Lite- 
raturzeitung,  in  ill  health  and  worse  spirits.  Herder 
had  died  on  December  18,  and  on  the  20tli  Goethe 
wrote  to  Schiller’s  wife  that  he  envied  him..  At  first 
he  even  refused  the  Duke’s  request  to  return  to 
Weimar  to  meet  the  distinguished  guest,  but  on 
second  thoughts  consented.  From  Schiller  he  had 
received  an  account  of  her  “ extraordinary  volu- 
bility,” and  he  resolved  on  a course  of  conduct  towards 
her  which  he  maintained  during  her  stay  of  nearly 
two  months.  If  we  are  to  believe  one  witness, 
their  first  meeting  was  that  of  two  torrents  ; each 
complained  that  the  other  absorbed  the  whole 
conversation.  Both  Schiller  and  Goethe  feared 
that  their  remarks  in  answer  to  her  indefatigable 
questionings  would  find  their  way  into  her  prospec- 
tive book,  and  each  after  his  own  fashion  made  it 
a point  to  elude  them.  Goethe’s  cue  was  good- 
humoured  banter,  in  which  he  had  always  been  an 
1 De  I’Allemagne  (1813). 


476  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

adept,1  and  it  is  her  own  testimony  that  she  could 
never  bring  him  to  talk  seriously  on  any  subject. 
It  was  with  the  sense  of  relief  from  an  oppression  that 
both  Schiller  and  Goethe  saw  her  depart  at  the  close 
of  the  following  February. 

During  all  these  jrnars  of  Goethe’s  intimacy  with 
Schiller  the  management  of  his  household  devolved 
on  Christiane  Vulpius.  That  his  home  life  was  not 
happy  we  gather  both  from  himself  and  his  friends. 
In  a letter  to  Korner,  Schiller  speaks  of  his  miserable 
domestic  relations  which  he  was  too  weak  to  change,2 
and  Korner  replies  that  this  was  doubtless  the  reason 
why  he  preferred  to  be  so  much  away  from  Weimar.3 
Though  the  arrangement  could  not  have  been  a 
comfortable  one  for  himself,  it  showed  his  kindness 
of  heart  that  Christiane’ s sister  and  aunt  were  lodged 
in  the  back  part  of  the  house  where  they  were  not 
seen  by  visitors.  Such  an  arrangement,  indeed, 
was  necessary  if  Christiane  was  not  to  be  debarred 
from  all  society,  as  the  ladies  of  Weimar  had  from  the 
beginning  persistently  held  aloof  from  her.  Occa- 
sionally, as  we  have  seen,  he  took  her  with  him  on 
his  journeys  and  even  presented  her  to  certain  of 
his  friends.  Christiane,  it  should  be  said,  was  no 
longer  the  fresh,  attractive  creature  who  had  excited 
his  passion  on  his  first  meeting  with  her  in  the  Park 
at  Weimar.  She  had  grown  coarse  in  appearance, 
and  a hereditary  tendency  to  intemperance  had 
begun  to  show  itself  in  her.  Her  inordinate  love 
of  dancing  gave  Goethe  special  annoyance,  as  she 
chiefly  indulged  in  the  amusement  with  the  students 
in  Jena,  of  whom  she  became  the  jest.  Yet  there  is 

1 It  was  with  such  banter  that  Goethe,  in  his  early  youth,  had  parried 
the  pious  appeals  of  Lavater  and  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg. 

2 Schiller  appears  to  have  had  a special  objection  to  Christiane.  In 
his  correspondence  with  Goethe,  he  only  once  makes  a kind  inquiry  after 
her,  and  even  then  he  does  not  refer  to  her  by  name. 

3 Goethe  doubtless  had  his  own  relations  to  Christiane  in  mind  when  he 
wrote  the  following  reflection,  “ Unreine  Lebensverlialtnisse  soil  man 
niemand  wiinschen ; sie  sind  aber  fur  den,  der  zufallig  hineingerat  Priif- 
steine  des  Characters  und  des  Entschiedensten,  was  der  Mann  vermag. 


PRIVATE  CARES  477 

clear  proof  that  there  was  never  a serious  breach 
in  their  relations.  We  have  seen  her  devoted  care 
of  him  during  his  dangerous  illness  in  the  beginning 
of  1801,  and  there  is  a touching  letter  from  her  to 
Meyer  which  shows  genuine  affection  on  her  part, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  presents  Goethe  in  a frame  of 
mind  which  the  world  does  not  generally  associate 
with  him.  “ I live  in  much  anxiety  for  the  Geheim- 
rath,”  she  wrote,  “he  is  often  quite  hypochondriac  . . . 
Don’t  mention  this  when  you  write,  however,  for 
one  must  not  tell  him  that  he  is  ill.”  On  Goethe’s 
side,  too,  there  appears  to  have  been  no  cooling  of 
his  affection.  His  letters  to  her  on  his  frequent 
journeys  continue  to  be  as  tenderly  considerate  as 
ever,  and  he  constantly  exhorts  her  to  disregard 
malicious  gossip  as  she  can  always  be  assured  of  his 
affection.  In  a single  sentence  which  occurs  in  one 
of  his  letters,  Goethe  has  precisely  defined  his  general 
position  in  Weimar.  “It  is  very  strange  that  my 
position  which,  taken  as  a whole,  could  not  well  be 
more  advantageous,  should  be  so  alien  to  my  nature.” 
Amid  his  public  and  private  cares  Goethe  had 
found  solace  of  a kind  that  is  not  frequently  the  lot 
of  mortals.  It  was  a conviction  borne  in  upon  him 
in  his  early  youth,  that  man  finds  his  happiness  only 
in  the  exercise  of  such  creative  talent  as  nature  has 
vouchsafed  to  him.  When  this  source  of  happiness 
was  failing  him,  he  had  been  fortunate  enough  to 
meet  with  one  whose  discerning  sympathy  had 
renewed  it.  Throughout  all  the  years  of  his  friend- 
ship with  Schiller,  despite  frequent  ill  health  and  the 
thwarting  of  his  most  treasured  aims,  he  had  a 
consciousness  of  reawakened  powers  which,  in  bis 
own  words,  produced  in  him  a “second  spring.”: 
Over  all  his  years  of  friendship  with  Schiller,  indeed, 
there  had  been  a brooding  shadow.  Before  their 
closer  intercourse  began,  Schiller  had  been  pros- 
trated by  an  illness  from  which  he  had  never  wholly 
recovered  and,  every  year  that  followed,  his  life  was 
frequently  in  danger.  Goethe’s  health,  also,  especially 


478  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 

during  the  last  years  of  their  intercourse,  was  so 
precarious  as  to  be  a source  of  disquiet  to  his  friends. 
Doubtless,  a sense  of  the  uncertainty  of  the  future 
had  its  own  influence  on  the  bond  that  united  them. 

In  the,  beginning  of  1805  Goethe,  who  all  his 
life  had  his  superstitions,  expressed  the  foreboding 
that  Schiller  or  he  would  die  that  year.1  The  state 
of  his  own  health  at  the  time  was  such  that  he  seemed 
likely  to  be  the  first  taken.  During  the  later  months 
of  1804  he  had  been  ill  and  depressed,  but  in  the 
following  February  his  illness  assumed  so  serious  a 
form  that  on  the  8th  of  that  month  his  life  was  in 
danger.  His  recovery  was  slow,  and  not  till  May  1 
was  he  able  to  visit  Schiller,  whom  he  found  on  the 
point  of  going  to  the  theatre.  They  parted  at 
Schiller’s  door,  and  they  were  not  to  meet  again. 
The  next  day  Schiller  was  ill,  and  on  the  9th  he  died. 
Dreading  the  effect  of  the  news  on  Goethe  in  his 
enfeebled  state,  no  one  had  the  courage  to  inform 
him.  Meyer,  wrho  was  with  him  when  the  news 
came,  left  the  house  without  communicating  it,  and 
Christiane  kept  a similar  silence.  The  next  morning 
on  Goethe’s  asking  her  if  Schiller  had  not  been  very 
ill  the  preceding  day,  her  sobs  told  him  the  truth. 
“ He  is  dead,”  was  his  only  remark,  and  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands,  he  turned  aside  and 
wept. 

What  the  death  of  Schiller  meant  for  Goethe, 
he  expressed  in  pregnant  words  to  his  friend  Zelter. 
“ I thought  to  lose  myself,”  he  wrote,  “ and  now  I 
lose  £L-friend  and  in  him  the  half  oLmy ..existence.  ’ ’ 
Was  it  fortunate  for  theirrelations  that  Schiller  died 
when  he  did  ? There  are  some  indications  that 
there  were  possibilities  of  estrangement  between  them 
in  the  near  future.  Goethe,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
sometimes  impatient  at  the  insistency  of  Schiller’s 

1 Heinrich  Voss  relates  that  Goethe  found  to  his  dismay  that  in  a letter 
addressed  to  Schiller  on  the  morning  of  New  Year's  Day,  1805,  he  had 
written  the  words  der  letzte  Neujahrstag.  He  tore  up  the  letter,  but  with 
difficulty  restrained  himself  from  rewriting  the  same  words. 


DEATH  OF  SCHILLER  479 

suggestions  regarding  his  work,  and  this  impatience 
would  almost  certainly  have  increased.  It  was 
significant,  too,  that  during  the  later  years  of  their 
intercourse  Goethe  was  showing  a sympathy  for 
certain  youthful  men  of  letters  whom  Schiller  held 
in  detestation.  Moreover,  as  his  past  life  had  shown, 
it  was  a peculiarity  of  Goethe’s  temperament  that 
new  relations  became  sooner  or  later  a necessity 
for  him.  From  Merck,  Lavater,  Jacobi,  and  Frau 
von  Stein,  he  had  in  turn  become  alienated,  and, 
though  Schiller  was  far  more  to  him  than  any  of 
these,  it  is  not  improbable  that  even  Schiller  would 
have  ceased  to  be  to  him  what  he  had  been.  On 
Schiller’s  part  we  have  clear  evidence  that  latterly 
his  position  in  Weimar  and  his  relations  to  Goethe 
were  not  all  he  could  have  wished.  A letter  of  his 
to  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt,  written  in  the  beginning 
of  1803,  puts  this  beyond  question.  After  com- 
plaining that  Goethe  during  the  preceding  quarter 
of  a year  had  been  living  in  the  seclusion  of  a monk 
and  taking  no  interest  in  artistic  and  dramatic 
affairs  in  Weimar,  he  concludes  : “ Alone  I can  do 
nothing  ; often  I feel  myself  impelled  to  look  about 
the  world  for  another  residence  and  sphere  of  work  ; 
if  I could  find  a tolerable  one  anywhere,  I would  go.” 1 
With  some  reason,  therefore,  it  may  be  said  that,  so 
far  as  the  friendship  of  the  two  men  is  concerned, 
the  death  of  Schiller  was  opportune.  If  they  had 
now  become  estranged,  the  world  would  have  been 
robbed  of  one  of  the  noblest  spectacles  in  literary 
history- — genius  and  friendship  working  in  perfect 
harmony  towards  the  highest  ends.  As  it  is,  the 
names  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  are  inseparably  linked 
and  associated  for  all  time  with  the  loftiest  strivings 
of  humanity.  The  lines  which  Goethe  wrote  on  the 
death  of  his  friend  will  be  for  all  time  the  seal  and 
consecration  of  their  union. 

1 A.  von  Humboldt  mentions  that,  shortly  before  Schiller’s  death, 
there  was  cine  leichte  Brouillerie  between  him  and  Goethe. — Oesprciche, 
II.  16. 


480 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER 


So  bleibt  er  uns,  der  vor  so  manchen  Jahren — 

Schon  zehne  sind’s  ! — von  uns  sich  weggekehrt ! 

Wir  haben  alle  segenreich  erfahren, 

Die  Welt  verdank’  ihm,  was  er  sie  gelehrt  ; 

Schon  langst  verbreitet  sich’s  in  ganze  Schaaren, 

Das  Eigenste,  was  ihm  allein  gehort. 

Er  glanzt  uns  vor,  wie  ein  Komet  entschwindend, 
Unendlich  Licht  mit  seinem  Licht  verbindend.1 

1 Epilog  zu  Schiller  s Gloclce,  written  in  the  July  succeeding  Schiller’s 
death.  Three  other  stanzas  were  subsequently  added — the  last,  that  quoted, 
in  1815.  It  has  been  pointed  out  that  in  no  poem  of  Goethe’s  is  the  influence 
of  Schiller  so  manifest  as  in  this  Epilog  devoted  to  his  memory. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


POETICAL  PRODUCTIONS  DURING  THE  SCHILLER 

YEARS 

1794 — 1805 

Goethe’s  literary  productiveness  during  the  years 
of  his  association  with  Schiller  fully  justified  his 
description  of  them  as  a “ second  spring.”  In  range, 
in  quality,  and  in  quantity  his  output  in  pure  literature 
surpassed  that  of  every  other  period  of  equal  length 
throughout  his  career.  He  completed  and  published 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre  and  added  new  scenes 
to  the  First  Part  of  Faust.1  Hermann  und  Dorothea 
was  wholly  the  work  of  this  period  as  was  also  his 
drama  Die  natlirliche  Tochter.  In  shorter  poems, 
too,  it  was  notably  prolific,  their  variety  of  theme  and 
treatment  evincing  all  the  reawakened  powers  of 
the  poet  and  his  renewed  zest  in  living.  Besides  his 
work  in  poetry,  he  wrote  much  in  prose,  mainly  on 
the  subject  of  art,  and  notably  his  account  of  Winckel- 
mann,  in  which  he  gave  to  the  world  his  matured  and 
final  conception  of  the  ideal  of  Greek  antiquity  as 
contrasted  with  that  of  the  moderns.  Meanwhile 
his  scientific  studies  were  pursued  with  as  much 
assiduity  as  ever,  the  Farbenlehre  still  holding  the 
first  place  in  his  thoughts. 

We  have  seen  how,  in  May,  1794,  Schiller  invited 
Goethe  to  collaborate  with  him  in  a periodical  he 
had  undertaken  to  edit,  and  how,  after  some  delay, 

1 Wilhelm  Meister  and  Faust  will  be  most  conveniently  treated  when 
we  have  the  two  Parts  of  both  before  us. 

VOL.  II.  481 


G 


482  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

Goethe  accepted  the  invitation  cordially.  The  invi- 
tation, indeed,  came  appropriately.  As  the  result 
of  his  art  studies  in  conjunction  with  Meyer,  Goethe’s 
mind  was  overflowing  with  ideas  which  he  was 
desirous  of  giving  to  the  world,  and  Schiller’s  contem- 
plated periodical  offered  him  precisely  the  oppor- 
tunity he  needed.  Moreover,  the  projected  pro- 
gramme of  the  journal  was  such  as  to  secure  his 
whole-hearted  approval.  In  words  that  might  have 
come  from  Goethe  himself,  Schiller  announced  in  his 
prospectus  that  its  object  would  be  to  raise  men’s 
minds  above  merely  temporary  interests,  to  enunciate 
truths  that  are  permanent  and  purely  human,  and 
thus  “ to  reunite  the  divided  political  world  under 
the  banner  of  truth  and  beauty.” 

Issued  by  the  enterprising  publisher  Cotta,  and 
with  Schiller  as  editor-in-chief,  the  first  number 
appeared  in  January,  1795,  under  the  title  of  Die 
Horen.  The  arrangement  was  that  it  should  be 
issued  monthly,  each  number  to  consist  of  nine  sheets 
of  medium  size.  No  periodical  of  any  age  or  country 
has  counted  among  its  contributors  such  a list  of 
distinguished  names.  To  mention  only  those  who 
are  known  to  all  the  world  : there  were  Goethe, 
Schiller,  the  two  Humboldts,  Kant,  and  the  elder 
Sehlegel.  It  was  Schiller’s  intention,  indeed,  to 
enlist  the  services  of  the  leading  spirits  of  the  time, 
and  by  their  combined  effort  to  educate  Germany  in 
every  sphere  of  her  intellectual  life.  To'  successive 
numbers  of  the  journal  Goethe  made  various  contri- 
butions in  poetry  and  prose,  the  most  notable  being 
the  Roman  Elegies  and  his  translation  of  the  autobio- 
graphy of  Benvenuto  Cellini.  The  success  of  the 
first  issue  was  encouraging,  and  the  May  number 
reached  a circulation  of  1800.  But  before  the  close 
of  the  first  year  of  its  existence  there  was  a steady 
falling  off  in  subscribers,  and,  as  it  eventually  failed 
to  pay  its  way,  it  ceased  to  appear  after  1797.  Both 
Goethe  and  Schiller  were  indignant  at  the  failure  of 
an  enterprise  undertaken  with  the  highest  of  motives. 


483 


THE  HOREN 

and  both  bitterly  commented  on  the  stupidity  of 
the  German  public.  Yet  it  is  doubtful  if  from  the 
nature  of  its  contents  the  Horen  could  have  found  a 
wide  circle  of  readers  in  any  country  and  at  any 
time.  The  miscellaneous  character  of  the  contri- 
butions appealed  to  no  special  class,  and  their  manner 
of  treatment  was  beyond  the  intelligence  of  the 
ordinary  reader.  For  Goethe,  the  Horen  remained 
an  unpleasant  memory.  “ What  time,”  he  said  to 
Eckermann  in  his  old  age,  “ what  time  have  I not 
wasted  with  Schiller  on  the  Horen  ! ” 

The  failure  of  the  Horen  only  intensified  feelings 
which  Goethe  had  long  entertained.  Since  his 
return  from  Italy  he  had  been  irritated  and  depressed 
by  the  illiberality  and  low  standard  of  taste  he 
found  among  his  countrymen.  His  Tasso  and  his 
Iphigenie  had  been  everywhere  coldly  received  and, 
what  annoyed  him  still  more,  his  theory  of  colours 
had  been  contemptuously  disregarded  by  the  scien- 
tific men  of  the  day.  Now  it  occurred  to  him  that  a 
well-directed  satire  might  have  a wholesome  effect 
by  drawing  attention  to  the  national  shortcomings. 
An  occasion  came  in  the  spring  of  1795.  A Berlin 
journal  made  a coarse  attack  on.the  Horen,  and  in 
May  he  wrote  a vigorous  reply,  entitled  Literar - 
ischer  Sansculottismus.1  But  something  more  effec- 
tive was  required,  if  the  nation  was  to  be  roused  to  a 
sense  of  its  intellectual  deficiencies.  As  he  had 
found  a model  for  the  Roman  Elegies  in  the  Roman 
elegiac  poets,  so  he  now  found  inMartial  the  suggestion 
of  a form  of  satire  admirably  suited  to  his  purpose. 
Martial  entitled  the  thirteenth  book  of  his  Epigrams 
Xenia,  gifts  presented  to  guests  during  the  days  of 
the  Saturnalia,  and  Goethe  appropriated  the  title 
as  an  ironical  description  2 of  his  own  work,  of  which 
he  had  now  formed  a clear  conception — a series  of 
satirical  distichs  directed  against  persons  and  things 
that  specially  called  for  chastisement.  His  mind 

1 It  appeared  in  the  Horen,  May,  1795. 

3 Herder  denounced  his  prostitution  of  the  word, 


484 


THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 


once  set  on  the  venture,  he  communicated  the  plan 
of  the  work  to  Schiller  who,  chagrined  at  the  dimin- 
ishing circulation  of  the  Horen  and  having  the  same 
cause  at  heart,  warmly  undertook  to  collaborate. 
During  about  seven  months  following  December,  1795, 
they  worked  in  common  at  their  task,  many  of  the 
epigrams  being  produced  jointly,  with  the  express 
intention  of  blinding  the  public  as  to  their  respective 
authors.  In  all,  about  a thousand  epigrams  were 
Avritten,  but  only  four  hundred  and  fourteen  were 
selected  for  publication.  In  September,  1796,  they 
made  their  appearance  in  a publication  of  Schiller, 
the  Musenalmanacli,1  which  also  contained  several 
poems  by  Goethe. 

If  the  object  of  the  Xenien  had  been  merely  to 
create  a sensation,  their  authors  had  reason  to  be 
gratified.  The  number  of  persons  hit,  and  the  un- 
sparing nature  of  the  attack  drew  the  attention  of 
the  whole  intellectual  Avorld  of  Germany.  Repre- 
sentatives of  literature,  of  science  and  of  politics, 
all  had  their  share  of  attention.  Only  a few  of  the 
distichs  were  laudatory,  and  these  mainly  concerned 
the  famous  dead,  such  as  Shakespeare,  Lessing,  and 
Kant.  The  great  majority  had  a sting  more  or  less 
mischievous,2  and  were  directed  against  either 
individuals  or  groups  of  individuals,  identified  with 
ideas  or  movements  of  which  the  authors  disappro\red. 
The  most  envenomed  were  pointed  against  friends  of 
Goethe’s  youth — Lavater,  the  Count  A-on  Stolberg, 
and  Jung  Stilling.  That  on  La\rater,  probably  from 
the  hand  of  Goethe  to  whom  he  had  become  a bug- 
bear, illustrates  the  licence  which  the  two  great  men 
permitted  themselves. 

Schade,  dass  die  Natur  nur  einen  Menschen  aus  dir  schuf, 

Denn  zum  wiirdigen  Mann  war  und  zum  Schelmen  der  St  off. 

A few  of  the  epigrams,  it  should  be  said,  contained 
Aveighty  reflections  on  art  and  life,  expressing  the 

1 The  Musenalmanach  appeared  from  1796  to  1800. 

8 Goethe  said  that  Schiller’s  epigrams  were  the  most  pungent 


THE  XENIEN  485 

ideals  whicli  it  was  the  common  endeavour  of  Goethe 
and  Schiller  to  impress  on  the  German  public. 

As  Goethe  and  Schiller  stood  almost  alone  in  the 
literature  of  their  time,  the  number  of  their  adver- 
saries was  proportionately  great ; hence  the  wide- 
spread emotion  which  the  Xenien  evoked.  The 
victims  were  infuriated;  their  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances shared  their  indignation ; and  the  literary 
world  in  general  was  entertained  by  the  scandal. 
Within  a few  weeks  a second  edition  was  necessary, 
and,  after  a few  months,  a third.  Numerous  replies 
from  the  enemy’s  camp  followed,  and  Goethe,  known 
as  the  chief  offender,  was  attacked  in  his  private 
relations  with  a virulence  and  indecency  without  a 
parallel  in  literature. 

Goethe  told  Eckermann  that  the  good  effects 
produced  by  the  Xenien  on  German  literature  were 
incalculable.  This  has  not  been  the  opinion  of 
modern  German  literary  critics.  The  Xenien  set 
the  literary  world  of  the  time  aflame,  but  they  had 
no  visible  influence  either  in  raising  the  standard 
of  literary  effort  or  in  liberalizing  the  minds  of  profes- 
sional men  of  science — the  two  objects  which  they 
were  mainly  intended  to  accomplish.  Goethe’s  work 
on  the  Xenien  was,  in  truth,  another  illustration  of 
that  temporary  aberration  of  aim,1  which  he  so 
frequently  laments  in  the  case  of  his  own  life  and 
which  was,  as  he  thought,  exemplified  in  the  lives 
of  most  other  people.  And  they  further  show  that 
the  divine  indifference  to  the  world’s  opinion  which 
has  been  ascribed  to  him  was  not  a part  of  his  cha- 
racter. Whatever  the  professed  aim  of  the  Xenien, 
they  were  primarily  prompted  by  a personal  irritation 
which  was  due  to  the  feminine  strain  in  his  nature. 
In  the  case  of  Pope’s  Dunciad  the  whole  man  went  to 
its  production,  and  the  result  was  a work  of  art  of 
permanent  interest.  But  the  Xenien  were  only  a 
splenetic  outburst  with  no  determinate  artistic 
conception,  and  hence  their  interest  was  purely 

1 Goethe  himself  called  the  Xenien  a “ mad  venture.” 


486 


THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

ephemeral  and  their  appearance  a regrettable  incident 
in  Goethe’s  life.1 

After  the  “ mad  venture  ” of  the  Xenien,  Goethe 
wrote  to  Schiller,  that  they  must  apply  themselves 
solely  to  the  production  of  great  and  worthy  works 
of  art  and  so  put  all  their  enemies  to  shame.  To 
the  close  of  their  association  both  men  fulfilled  the 
ideal  Goethe  thus  set  before  them ; neither  vouch- 
safed a reply  to  the  numerous  attacks  on  the  Xenien. 
In  the  very  year  the  Xenien  appeared  each  was 
engaged  on  a work  which  is  among  the  most  notable 
that  came  from  his  hands ; Schiller  seriously  began 
his  Wallenstein  and  Goethe  his  Hermann  und  Doro- 
thea. The  theme  which  he  chose  for  his  poem, 
Goethe  says,  was  such  as  seldom  occurs  twice  to  a 
poet.  In  1794,  in  the  course  of  his  reading,  he  had 
come  upon  the  incident  which  suggested  it.  He 
read  how  in  the  year  1732  the  Archbishop  of  Salz- 
burg had  expelled  from  his  diocese  a multitude  of 
Protestants  who  in  the  course  of  then  journeyings 
passed  through  the  town  of  Altmiihl.  In  Altmiilil 
there  lived  a burgher  who  had  hitherto  vainly 
endeavoured  to  persuade  his  son  to  marry.  Among 
the  refugees  the  son  saw  a maiden  to  whom  he 
straightway  lost  his  heart,  and  he  amiounced  to  his 
father  that  he  was  prepared  to  make  her  his  wife. 
The  father  gave  his  consent,  but  only  on  condition 
that  the  marriage  was  approved  by  then  friends, 
including  their  preacher.  The  friends,  regarding 
the  appearance  of  the  maiden  as  an  intervention  of 
Providence,  gave  their  approval.  The  betrothal 
accordingly  took  place,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  every- 
body present,  the  maiden  put  a purse  of  200  ducats 
in  her  lover’s  hands,  when  he  presented  her  with  the 
ring.  Such  is  the  tale  that  serves  as  the  ground- 
work of  Goethe’s  poem,  though  for  the  purpose  of 
poetic  effect  he  altered  certain  of  its  details.  The 


1 In  Oberon  and  Titania's  Marriage,  one  of  the  scenes  of  the  First  Part  of 
Faust,  written  in  1797,  the  year  after  the  appearance  of  the  Xenien,  we  hare 
a satirical  presentment  of  the  condition  of  contemporary  German  literature. 


HERMANN  UND  DOROTHEA  487 

cause  of  the  flight  of  the  refugees  he  assigns  to  the 
French  Revolution,  thus  post-dating  the  incident  by 
more  than  sixty  years,  and  he  ignores  the  purse  of 
ducats,  as  it  would  have  been  a jarring  note  in  bis  idyll. 

Though  the  idea  of  the  poem  had  thus  been  in 
his  mind  for  some  years,  it  was  not  till  September, 
1796,  that  he  wholeheartedly  began  its  composition. 
He  has  told  us  what  was  the  immediate  occasion  of 
his  inspiration.  In  1795  there  had  appeared  his 
friend  Voss’s  Luise,  an  idyll  of  country  life  written 
in  hexameters.  Voss’s  poem  is  now  held  in  little 
esteem  in  Germany,  but  in  its  day  it  achieved  a 
great  success,  and  Goethe  seems  to  have  admired  it 
sincerely.  What  specially  attracted  him  in  Luise, 
however,  was  not  its  substance  but  its  form,  as  prov- 
ing that  a successful  poem  could  be  written  in  German 
hexameters.1  The  other  source  of  his  inspiration, 
he  tells  us,  was  a book  published  in  the  same  year  as 
Luise — Wolf’s  Prolegomena  to  Homer,  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  had  keenly  excited  his  interest.  No  poet 
is  more  generous  in  acknowledging  his  debt  to  others 
than  Goethe,  and  it  was  only  characteristic  that  he 
should  tell  Voss  that  he  had  shown  him  the  way  and 
that  Wolf  had  given  him  the  courage  to  proceed. 
In  truth,  he  needed  no  external  prompting  to  write 
Hermann  und  Dorothea.  Its  theme,  as  his  handling 
of  it  shows,  deeply  interested  him,  and  it  was  now  his 
ambition  to  produce  a work  which  would  prove  to 
the  world  that  a modern  subj  ect  wedded  to  a classical 
form  would  result  in  the  highest  form  of  art.  More- 
over, there  was  another  motive  impelling  him,  which 
is  clearly  apparent  in  the  course  of  the  poem  regarded 
as  a whole.  He  was  still  obsessed  by  the  Irench 
Revolution,  and  he  was  more  convinced  than 
ever  of  the  mischief  it  was  working  in  Germany, 
and  would  continue  to  work.  What  he  had  hither- 
to written  on  that  theme  had  failed  to  accomplish 
what  he  intended,  but  by  presenting  it  under  another 

1 Wahrlich,  es  fiillt  mit  Wonne  das  Herz,  dem  Gesange  zu  horehen, 
Ahmt  ein  Sanger  wie  der  Tone  des  Alterthums  nack. 


488 


THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

form  he  might  succeed  ; and,  in  point  of  fact,  his 
Hermann  und  Dorothea  was  admirably  fitted  to 
counteract  the  revolutionary  spirit. 

Goethe’s  original  intention  was  to  make  only  a 
short  idyll  out  of  the  incidents  recorded  by  his 
authority,  and  their  meagreness  seemed  to  necessitate 
such  treatment.  Out  of  what  slender  materials  the 
poem  was  constructed,  a bare  relation  of  its  essential 
incidents  will  show.  There  are  six  characters  in 
all — the  host  of  the  Golden  Lion  and  his  wife,  Her- 
mann, the  village  pastor,  the  apothecary,  and 
Dorothea.  A crowd  of  refugees  driven  from  their 
homes  by  the  French  Revolution  is  represented  as 
passing  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  village,1  and 
Hermann’s  mother,  pitying  their  miserable  plight, 
sends  him  with  a store  of  comforts  for  their  relief. 
In  the  course  of  his  errand  he  sees  Dorothea,  and  his 
heart  at  once  goes  out  to  her.  On  his  return  he 
tells  his  mother  that,  if  he  is  not  permitted  to  marry 
Dorothea,  he  will  never  marry  at  all.  His  father  had 
long  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  him  to  marry  a girl 
with  a dowry,  and  when  the  mother  reported  to  him 
their  son’s  resolution,  he  at  first  indignantly  refused 
to  listen.  On  the  suggestion  of  the  pastor  and  the 
apothecary,  however,  he  agreed  that  they  should 
see  the  maiden  and  report  their  impression  of  her. 
Their  impression  is  favourable,  and  Hermann,  left 
alone,  brings  Dorothea  home,  but  leads  her  to  believe 
that  it  is  in  the  capacity  of  a general  servant.  On 
their  appearance,  the  host,  to  her  pain  and  embarrass- 
ment, greets  her  as  his  son’s  future  wife ; but,  the 
misunderstanding  having  been  cleared  up,  the  pair 
are  there  and  then  betrothed.2 

Such  is  the  narrow  basis  on  which  Goethe  con- 
structed a poem  consisting  of  nine  cantos  and  2034 
lines.  It  was  written  in  a different  fashion  from 
Egmont  and  Tasso  and  Iphigenie,  the  production  of 

1 Represented  as  on  the  right  hank  of  the  Rhine. 

2 The  action  of  the  poem  takes  place  during  a summer’s  afternoon  and 
evening. 


HERMANN  UND  DOROTHEA  489 

which  extended  over  many  years.  At  Jena,  where 
alone  he  had  full  command  of  his  genius,  and  in 
beautiful  weather — for  Goethe  a necessary  condition 
of  poetic  effort — he  composed  two-thirds  of  it  during 
September  and  October,  1796.  During  the  following 
winter  months  it  was  laid  aside,  but  in  spring  another 
burst  of  inspiration  enabled  him  to  complete  it  about 
the  middle  of  March.  As  Goethe  was  always  dis- 
trustful of  his  hexameters,1  he  submitted  the  poem 
for  revision  to  Schiller  and  W.  von  Humboldt,  and  it 
eventually  appeared  in  October,  1797,  in  the  Taschen- 
buch  for  1788,  published  by  Vieweg  in  Berlin.  It  was 
issued  in  two  forms,  one  an  edition  de  luxe,  and,  in 
accordance  with  his  own  demand,  Goethe  was  paid 
down  1000  thalers  in  gold. 

The  success  of  Hermann  und  Dorothea  was  such  as 
Goethe  had  not  attained  since  the  appearance  of 
Werther.  It  was  received  with  equal  enthusiasm  by 
the  critics  2 and  by  the  general  reader.  Schiller 
found  it  the  “ culmination  of  Goethe’s  art  and  of  all 
modern  art,”  and  W.  von  Humboldt  and  A.  W. 
Schlegel  were  of  the  same  mind.  That  the  poem 
became  instantaneously  and  permanently  popular 
in  Germany,  we  can  readily  understand.  The  cha- 
racters assigned  to  Hermann  and  Dorothea  are  such 
as  to  appeal  directly  to  national  feeling.  They 
embody  the  German  ideal  of  youth  and  maiden,  and 
their  manner  of  wooing  is  the  ideal  of  lovemaking. 
And  the  other  personages  in  the  poem,  all  recognized 
types  of  the  classes  to  which  they  belong,  have 
precisely  the  traits  which  can  be  understood  and 
appreciated  by  the  general  mind.  There  is  here  no 
subtle  psychology  as  in  Tasso  and  Iphigenie,  no 
abnormal  character  like  Werther  which  appeals  only 
to  artificial  natures.  The  Host,  who  puts  his  own 
comfort  before  every  consideration,  vulgarly  ambi- 
tious, but  good-natured  at  bottom ; his  wife,  engrossed 
in  her  household  duties,  actively  well-doing,  and 

1 Voss  was  pedantically  critical  of  Goethe’s  hexameters. 

2 There  were  some  discordant  voices,  however 


490  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

managing  her  helpmate  though  he  does  not  know 
it ; 1 the  apothecary,  a garrulous  gossip,  fond  of 
show,  though  he  grudges  the  expense ; and  the 
pastor,  above  the  others  in  range  of  intelligence,  but 
sharing  their  interest  without  condescension,  and 
giving  his  advice — all  are  so  broadly  human  that 
they  make  a universal  appeal.  And  the  setting  in 
which  .they  live  and  move  is  at  once  attractive  and 
reconciling.  In  a letter  to  Meyer  Goethe  describes 
the  atmosphere  he  aimed  at  producing.  “ I have 
endeavoured,”  he  wrote,  “ to  separate,  in  the  crucible 
of  the  epic,2  the  purely  human  element  in  the  life  of  a 
little  German  town  from  its  dross,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  to  reflect  from  a tiny  mirror  the  great  move- 
ments and  changes  of  the  world-stage.”  In  seeldng 
to  present  the  “ purely  human  ” Goethe  does  not 
idealize  the  life  of  his  little  community,  as,  for 
example,  Goldsmith  idealized  the  past  of  his  deserted 
village.  He  only  presents  the  better  side  of  its 
inhabitants — their  neighbourliness,  their  kindly 
interest  in  each  other’s  affairs,  their  satisfaction  with 
the  lives  they  severally  lead.  Their  failings  and 
weaknesses,  the  limitations  of  their  existence  are  not 
concealed,  but  a pervading  atmosphere  of  geniality 
assures  us  that  in  their  daily  round  of  duties,  content 
and  happiness  are  their  portion. 

In  presenting  such  a picture  of  village  life  in 
Germany,  Goethe  was  giving  expression  at  once  to 
his  instincts  as  a poet  and  to  his  convictions  as  a man. 
As  has  already  been  said,  Hermann  unci  Dorothea 
is,  in  its  way,  a manifesto  against  revolutionary 
aspirations,  though  this  intention  is  never  intruded 
to  the  detriment  of  the  poetry.  The  poem  as  a 
whole,  indeed,  may  be  regarded  as  an  argument  in 
support  of  Goethe’s  conviction  that  the  state  is  best 
served  by  each  citizen’s  confining  himself  to  sweeping 

1 In  the  characters  of  the  Host  and  Hostess  there  are  many  suggestions 
of  Goethe’s  father  and  mother.  Hermann's  relations  to  his  parents  are 
also  suggested  by  his  own  home  experiences. 

2 Goethe  sometimes  calls  his  poem  an  “ idyll  ” and  at  other  times  an 
“ epic.” 


HERMANN  UND  DOROTHEA  491 

his  own  door.  Directly  and  indirectly  lie  seeks  to 
drive  the  lesson  home.  The  happiness  and  content 
attainable  by  a peaceful  community  is  contrasted 
throughout  with  a world  convulsed  by  discordant 
passions  and  striving  after  unattainable  ends.  An 
incident  at  the  close  is  purposely  introduced  to  give 
the  poet  the  opportunity  of  directly  conveying  his 
moral.  The  pastor,  in  placing  the  ring  of  betrothal 
on  Dorothea’s  finger,  notices  to  his  surprise  that  she 
wears  another  betrothal  ring,  and  he  jestingly  asks 
an  explanation.  Dorothea  explains  that  she  had 
previously  been  betrothed  to  a youth  who,  swept 
away  by  the  spirit  of  the  time,  had  gone  to  Paris 
and  perished  by  the  guillotine.  Then,  in  the  con- 
cluding speech  of  the  poem,  Hermann  (and  it  is 
significant  that  the  words  are  put  into  his  mouth) 
gives  utterance  to  sentiments  which,  in  Goethe’s 
j udgment,  should  animate  every  German  youth. 

Desto  fester  sei,  bei  der  allgemeinen  Erschutt’rung, 

Dorothea,  der  Bund  ! Wir  wollen  halten  und  dauern, 

Fest  uns  halten  und  fest  der  schonen  Outer  Besitztum. 

Denn  der  Mensch,  der  zur  schwankenden  Zeit  auch  schwankend 

gesinnt  ist, 

Der  vermehret  das  Ubel  und  breitet  es  weiter  und  weiter  ; 

Aber  wer  fest  auf  dem  Sinne  beharrt,  der  bildet  die  Welt  sich. 
Nicht  dem  Deutschen  geziemt  es,  die  furchterliche  Bewegung 
Fortzuleiten  und  auch  zu  wanken  hierin  und  dorthin. 

“ Dies  ist  unser  ! ” so  lass  uns  sagen  und  so  es  behaupten  ! 

In  his  old  age  Goethe  said  that  Hermann  und 
Dorothea  was  almost  the  only  one  of  his  longer 
poems  that  still  satisfied  him,  and  he  added  the 
significant  remark  that  he  enjoyed  it  most  in  the 
Latin  version.1  The  remark  raises  an  interesting 
aesthetic  question.  Are  the  form  and  substance  of 
the  poem  so  harmoniously  wedded  as  to  give  the 
impression  of  a pure  and  direct  inspiration  such  as  we 
receive  from  Goethe’s  best  lyrics  and  the  First  Part 
of  Faust  ? Certain  critics  among  his  own  country- 
men have  answered  the  question  decidedly  in  the 

1 Versions  were  made  both  in  Greek  and  Latin. 


492  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

negative.  They  point  out  that  there  is  an  inherent 
incongruity  between  the  substance  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  Homeric  form  of  verse  and  phraseology  on 
the  other.  Through  such  a medium,  they  say, 
German  idiom  cannot  be  really  conveyed.  Conse- 
quently the  different  characters  are  frequently  forced 
by  the  exigencies  of  the  verse-form  to  express  them- 
selves in  a fashion  almost  ludicrously  incongruous. 
In  such  lines  as  these  uttered  by  Dorothea  we  are 
no  longer  in  the  village  on  the  Rhine  but  in  the  world 
of  the  Odyssey. 

Und  als  ich  wieder  am  Brunnen  ihn  fand,  da  freut’  ich  mich  seines 
Anblicks  so  sehr,  als  war’  mir  der  Himmlischen  einer  erschienen. 

What,  again,  are  we  to  think  of  such  words  as 
these  addressed  to  Hermann  by  his  mother  ? 

Sohn,  mehr  wunschest  du  nicht,  die  Braut  in  die  Kammer  zu 

fiihren, 

Dass  dir  werde  die  Naeht  zur  schonen  Halfte  des  Lebens, 

Als  der  Vater  es  wiinscht  und  die  Mutter. 

“ I shall  never  become  attached  to  a foreign  idiom 
so  as  to  put  it  into  my  writings,”  says  Keats,  and 
speaking  of  the  verse  of  Paradise  Lost,1  he  remarks 
that  “ it  cannot  be  written  but  in  an  artful,  or  rather, 
artist’s  humour.”  The  “ artist’s  humour  ” is  every- 
where evident  in  Hermann  und  Dorothea,  and  we 
are  conscious  throughout  that  the  poet  is  engaged  in 
a wager  with  himself.  What  he  has  to  achieve  is 
to  adapt  a highly  artificial  form  of  verse  to  a subj  ect- 
matter  that  demands  perfect  simplicity  of  treatment. 
The  almost  inevitable  result  is  that  his  attempted 
simplicity  is  apt  to  become  sim-plesse  and,  at  times, 
even  niaiserie.  Lines  such  as  the  following  have  the 
double  fault  of  suggesting  the  mock-heroic  and  of 
transporting  the  reader  to  another  world  than  that 
which  the  poem  is  meant  to  depict. 

1 In  Paradise  Lost,  however,  as  Keats  allowed,  form  and  substance 
were  in  perfect  harmony. 


HERMANN  UND  DOROTHEA  493 

Hermann  eilte  zum  Stalle  sogleich,  wo  die  mutigen  Hengste 
Ruhig  standen,  und  rasch  den  reinen  Hafer  verzehrten 
Und  das  trockene  Heu,  auf  der  besten  Wiese  gehauen. 

Eilig  legt’  er  ihnen  darauf  das  blanke  Gebiss  an, 

Zog  die  Riemen  sogleich  durch  die  schon  versilberten  Schnallen 
Und  befestigte  dann  die  langen,  breiteren  Zugel, 

Fiihrte  die  Pferde  heraus  in  den  Hof,  wo  der  willige  Knecht  schon 
Vorgeschoben  die  Kutsche,  sie  leicht  an  der  Deichsel  bewegend. 

Disjoined  from  their  context,  indeed,  many 
passages  in  the  poem  suggest,  like  the  foregoing,  a 
parody  of  the  Homeric  manner.  In  the  long  speeches 
put  into  the  mouths  of  the  different  characters  we 
have  the  same  sense  of  incongruity  as  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  homely  details.  Hermann,  who  is  repre- 
sented as  a somewhat  slow-witted  youth,  moralizes 
with  all  the  gravity  and  profundity  of  a Nestor. 

About  the  same  period  as  Goethe  was  writing  his 
Hermann  und  Dorothea,  Wordsworth  was  engaged  in 
his  task  of  revealing  to  the  world  the  poetry  of  humble 
life.  A comparison  between  his  work  and  that  of 
Goethe,  therefore,  naturally  suggests  itself.  We  are 
at  once  conscious  of  the  difference  between  poems 
like  Michael,  The  Brothers,  the  tale  of  Margaret  in 
the  Excursion,  on  the  one  hand,  and  Hermann  und 
Dorothea  on  the  other.  In  the  work  of  the  English 
poet,  form  and  substance  are  in  perfect  unison ; we 
have  the  single  impression  of  his  direct  contact  with 
his  themes  which  keeps  him  within  the  truth  of  nature. 
For  Goethe,  from  the  character  of  his  medium, 
this  directness  and  simplicity  was  not  possible ; 
in  his  work  the  “ artist’s  humour  ” necessarily 
obtrudes  itself,  with  the  result  that  the  inner  harmony 
which  should  characterize  a perfectly  sincere  poem, 
is  lost.  In  a moment  of  frankness  Goethe  told 
Madame  de  Stael  that  all  his  poems  in  imitation 
of  the  antique  were  of  the  nature  of  “ artistic  experi- 
ments.” Such  an  experiment  is  Hermann  und  Doro- 
thea, and,  regarded  as  such,  we  cannot  but  marvel 
at  the  ingenuity  that  went  to  the  making  of  it. 
And  it  must  always  appeal  to  a more  numerous  body 
of  readers  than  such  poems  of  Wordsworth  as  have 


494  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

just  been  named.  The  greater  variety  of  characters 
and  interests,  its  very  artificiality,  give  it  a piquancy 
which  the  grave  sincerity  of  such  a poem  as  Michael 
does  not  possess  for  the  ordinary  person.  Hermann 
und  Dorothea  is  not  to  be  classed  with  the  greatest 
efforts  of  Goethe’s  genius,  but  it  is  one  of  the  perma- 
nently interesting  poems  in  literature,  and  is  another 
signal  proof  of  the  range  of  his  gifts.  As  a mere 
tour  deforce,  it  is  probably  unmatched  in  the  literature 
of  any  other  country. 

During  the  same  period  of  his  association 
with  Schiller  Goethe  produced  another  poetic  whole 
which,  though  cast  in  a different  form  from  Hermann 
und  Dorothea,  proceeded  from  a similar  inspiration. 
Die  natiirliche  Tochter,  like  Hermann  und  Dorothea, 
has  the  French  Revolution  as  its  background  and  is 
likewise  an  experiment  in  the  reproduction  of  Greek 
models.  The  dominating  preoccupations  of  Goethe 
during  his  Schiller  period  were  the  French  Revolution 
and  Greek  art,  and  Die  natiirliche  Tochter  embodies 
his  attempt  to  combine  them  in  an  artistic  whole. 
So  far,  therefore,  that  work,  like  Gotz  von  Berlichingen, 
Werther  and  Clavigo,  is  a transcript  of  his  own 
mental  and  moral  experience,  though  so  deeply 
divided  from  these  earlier  productions  alike  bj'  its 
form  and  by  its  content. 

We  are  to  infer  that  Goethe  had  previously  been 
contemplating  a drama  along  the  lines  of  Die  nattir- 
liche  Tochter,  but,  just  as  with  Gotz  and  Clavigo, 
it  was  an  accident  that  led  him  to  concentrate  him- 
self on  its  execution.  In  November,  1799,  Schiller 
sent  him  a book,  entitled  Memoires  historiques  de 
Stephanie- Louise  de  Bourbon-Conti,  ecrits  par  elle 
meme,  which  had  appeared  in  the  previous  year  and 
which  Goethe  read  with  eager  interest.  As  the 
Princess  tells  her  story,  it  is  as  follows.  She  was 
the  natural  daughter  of  Prince  Louis  Frangois 
Bourbon-Conti  and  the  Duchess  of  Mazarin,  but 
Louis  XV.  gave  her  a pledge  that  she  would  be 
publicly  recognized  as  legitimate.  As  her  mother 


DIE  NATZJRLICHE  TOCHTER  495 

and  her  legitimate  brother  considered  that  a public 
recognition  of  her  legitimacy  would  be  injurious  to 
their  interest,  they  bribed  her  governess  to  abduct 
her  from  Paris  and  place  her  in  a cloister.  Given  the 
option  of  remaining  there  or  of  marrying  a commoner, 
she,  after  some  hesitation,  chose  the  latter  alternative. 
Eventually  she  deserted  her  husband,  and,  after 
many  adventures,  played  a prominent  part  in  the 
Revolution. 

The  reading  of  the  Memoir  immediately  suggested 
to  Goethe  the  “ conception  ” of  his  tragedy,  and  the 
plan  of  it  at  once  took  shape  in  his  mind.  “ In  the 
plan/’  he  says,  “ I prepared  for  myself  a vessel 
in  which  I hoped  to  deposit,  with  becoming  serious- 
ness, all  that  during  so  many  years  I had  thought  and 
written  regarding  the  French  Revolution.”  The 
execution  of  his  plan  was  not  carried  out  under  such 
bursts  of  inspiration  as  was  the  case  with  Hermann 
und  Dorothea.  Conceived  in  November,  1799,  it 
was  not  completed  till  the  beginning  of  1803 — a 
troubled  period  of  Goethe’s  life,  as  in  these  years  he 
lost  an  infant  child  (the  fourth),  nearly  lost  his  son 
August,  and  in  the  opening  of  1801  was  himself 
prostrated  by  a dangerous  illness.  Between  October 
21,  1801,  and  the  end  of  December  he  wrote  the 
First  Act,  continued  his  work  on  the  succeeding 
Acts  during  1802,  until  on  April  2 the  completed 
drama  was  played  in  the  Weimar  theatre.  Printed 
in  October  of  the  same  year,  it  appeared  in  a Taschen- 
buch  for  1804,  published  by  the  house  of  Cotta  in 
Tubingen.  In  connection  with  his  work  on  Die 
naturliche  Tochter,  Goethe  specially  notes  that  it 
was  executed  in  complete  secrecy,  not  even  Schiller 
being  informed  of  it,  and  that  he  charged  the  actors 
engaged  in  its  rehearsal  not  to  communicate  its 
contents. 

A brief  outline  of  the  plot  will  show  to  what 
extent  the  French  Revolution  forms  part  of  the 
action  of  the  drama.  The  leading  characters,  of 
whom  only  one  has  a personal  name,  are  the  King, 


496  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

the  Duke  (the  King’s  uncle),  Eugenie  (the  Duke’s 
natural  daughter),  Eugenie’s  Governess,  and  the 
Secretary.  The  play  opens  with  a scene  in  a dense 
forest,  in  which  the  Duke  informs  the  King  that  he 
has  a scapegrace  son  who  has  been  little  of  a joy  to 
him,  but  that  he  has  also  a natural  daughter  whose 
character  and  accomplishments  would  make  her 
the  pride  and  delight  of  any  father.  As  they  are 
conversing,  they  are  alarmed  by  the  outcries  of  an 
excited  crowd,  and  they  learn  that  in  the  course  of 
a hunt  Eugenie  has  been  precipitated  over  a cliff 
and  thrown  from  her  horse.  Carried  into  their 
presence,  she  recovers  consciousness,  and  in  the 
conversation  that  ensues  the  King  promises  to 
have  her  recognized  at  Court  on  the  occasion  of  his 
next  birthday,  though,  at  the  same  time,  warning 
both  father  and  daughter  of  the  grave  difficulties, 
that  may  lie  in  the  way.  These  difficulties,  we  are 
given  to  understand,  are  due  to  political  complica- 
tions which  may  threaten  a revolution.  In  point 
of  fact,  in  the  scenes  that  follow,  it  is  not  made  clear 
that  Eugenie’s  fate  is  determined  by  any  changes  in 
the  State.  The  Secretarjr,  an  agent  of  her  brother 
who  dreads  her  public  recognition  as  detrimental 
to  his  own  interests,  persuades  her  governess  to  carry 
her  off  secretly  as  her  life  is  in  danger.  On  her 
disappearance  the  Duke  is  informed  that  she  has  met 
with  another  riding  accident,  this  time  fatal,  and 
that  she  is  so  disfigured  that  he  would  best  consult 
his  feelings  by  refraining  from  the  sight  of  her.  In 
the  Fourth  Act  the  scene  changes  to  a seaport  town, 
where  we  find  Eugenie  and  her  governess — the 
latter  in  possession  of  a document  in  which  it  is  set 
down  that  Eugenie  must  either  marry  a commoner 
or  leave  the  country  for  ever.  A judge  in  the  town, 
represented  as  of  noble  character,  offers  her  marriage, 
and,  after  a desperate  struggle  with  herself,  she 
agrees  to  accept  him,  but  on  the  condition  that  he 
regards  her  only  as  a sister.  By  the  last  words  in 
which  she  gives  the  reason  for  her  decision,  we  are 


DIE  NATURLICHE  TOCHTER  497 

again  reminded  of  the  perturbed  world  in  which 
the  action  of  the  drama  takes  place.  She  sees  a 
people  on  the  eve  of  revolution  and  entertains  the 
hope  that,  in  the  commotion  that  will  follow,  she 
will  obtain  justice  and  deliverance. 

From  this  sketch  of  the  development  of  the  play 
it  will  be  seen  that  the  Revolution  forms  no  essential 
part  of  its  texture.  We  are  given  to  infer  that  the 
brother’s  proceedings  against  his  sister  were  influenced 
by  political  events,  but  what  these  events  were  is 
nowhere  put  distinctly  before  us.  There  is  no  scene 
in  which  the  threatened  uprising  of  the  populace  is 
represented  by  the  speech  and  action  of  any  of  its 
leaders.  The  references  to  a revolutionary  move- 
ment by  the  persons  of  the  drama  serve  only  to 
remind  us  that  such  a movement  was  in  progress, 
and  they  do  not  spring  from  the  necessity  of  the 
action.  There  is  some  ground,  therefore,  for  the 
contemptuous  remark  of  Goethe’s  future  defamer, 
Ludwig  Borne,  that  “ instead  of  seeing  a world- 
history  in  the  court-history,  Goethe  sees  a court- 
history  in  the  world-history.” 

The  truth  is,  however,  that,  though  Die  natiir- 
liche  Tochter,  as  originally  planned,  was  to  consist 
of  only  one  drama,  Goethe  came  to  find  that  a wider 
canvas  was  needed  for  the  working  out  of  his  concep- 
tion, and  that  it  was  his  intention  to  develop  the  one 
play  into  a trilogy.  The  intention  was  never  fulfilled, 
and  he  alleges  as  the  reason  that  he  made  the  mistake, 
fatal  for  him,  of  giving  the  first  part  to  the  world. 
We  have  sketches  of  scenes  that  wrere  to  have  a place 
in  the  continued  work,  but  they  are  of  such  a frag- 
mentary nature  that  we  can  form  no  conception  of 
it  as  a completed  whole.  We  naturally  ask : Had 
Goethe  written  his  projected  trilogy,  was  he  likely 
to  have  given  the  world  a work  that  would  have 
imaged  the  Revolution  with  such  comprehensiveness, 
depth,  and  power  that  it  would  have  been  universally 
accepted  as  adequate  to  its  theme  ? In  view  of 
what  he  had  hitherto  produced  on  the  same  subject, 

VOL.  II.  h 


498  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

we  may  have  our  doubts.  In  his  stormy  youth, 
in  the  days  when  he  wrote  Gotz  and  Werther,  he  might 
at  least  have  written  scenes  that  would  have  expressed 
the  passions  of  the  revolutionary  time,  but  by  the 
whole  bent  of  his  culture  throughout  his  maturer 
years,  by  the  very  environment  in  which  he  had  lived 
since  the  day  he  entered  Weimar,  it  would  seem  that 
he  was  rendered  incapable  of  adequately  treating  a 
theme  repellent  to  his  deepest  instincts. 

In  Die  natiirliche  Tochter,  as  we  have  it,  Goethe 
had  failed  to  achieve  one  of  the  obj  ects  he  set  before 
him  ; he  had  not  poured  into  his  “ vessel  ” all  the 
thoughts  and  emotions  which  the  Revolution  had 
evoked  in  him.  His  other  obj  ect  had  been  to  produce 
a drama,  “ lofty  and  powerful,”  on  the  model  of  a 
Greek  tragedy.  Did  he  at  least  succeed  in  this 
object  ? The  general  opinion,  both  in  German}’  and 
elsewhere,  has  always  been  that,  regarded  as  a whole, 
the  play  must  be  counted  among  Goethe’s  failures. 
As  an  acting  piece,  for  which,  indeed,  Goethe  did  not 
intend  it,  it  could  not  from  its  nature  be  a success  ; 
in  Weimar,  where  it  was  first  produced,  it  was  coldly 
received,  and  in  Berlin  it  was  damned. 1 It  is  essen- 
tially, therefore,  as  a reading  play  that  it  must  be 
judged,  and,  as  such,  it  has  not  found  favour  either 
with  critics  or  with  the  general  public.  On  its 
appearance  it  was,  indeed,  highly  praised  by  persons 
to  whose  opinion  Goethe  attached  the  greatest  weight. 
It  gave  pleasure  to  Carl  August,  who  was  an  ardent 
admirer  of  the  French  classical  drama  ; Schiller  and 
Herder  spoke  of  it  in  enthusiastic  terms  ; and  Fichte 
called  it  “ the  greatest  masterpiece  of  the  master.” 
But  the  general  voice  of  contemporary  critics  was 
depreciatory  ; the  judicious  Korner  predicted  that 
it  would  never  find  wide  acceptance,  and  one  critic, 
L.  F.  Huber,  described  it  in  a phrase,  “ marble-cold 
and  marble- smooth,”  which  is  stereotyped  in  German 
literature. 

1 Mainly,  however,  through  the  agency  of  the  friends  of  Kotzebue, 
Goethe’s  enemy. 


DIE  NATURLICHE  TOCHTER  499 

Tlie  supreme  merit  which  Schiller  found  in  Die 
natiirliche  Tochter  was  “ its  lofty  symbolism,”  and 
for  Goethe  this  was  the  highest  praise.  As  he  now 
conceived  the  aim  of  the  dramatic  poet,  it  was  to 
make  his  characters  general  types,  not  individuals 
with  personal  idiosyncrasies.  This  conception  he 
had  already,  in  some  degree,  exemplified  in  Tasso  and 
Iphigenie,  but  we  have  it  on  his  own  word  that  Die 
natiirliche  Tochter  was  an  express  attempt  to  embod}^ 
it.  Yet  it  is  not  evident  what  any  of  its  characters 
specifically  symbolize.  We  can  hardly  think  of 
Eugenie  and  her  fortunes  as  adequately  typifying 
a nation  in  revolt  against  intolerable  oppression. 
With  the  other  characters  our  difficulties  are  the 
same.  The  King  is  good-na  tured  and  well-intentioned 
and  may  suggest  Louis  XVI.,  but  this  does  not  make 
him  a symbol ; so  with  the  Duke,  the  fond  father  ; 
and  with  the  Secretary,  the  knavish  tool  of  Eugenie’s 
unscrupulous  brother.  Of  all  the  persons  of  the 
drama  Eugenie  alone  leaves  us  with  a definite  image, 
and  that  not  as  a type,  but  as  a being  of  real  flesh 
and  blood.  As  it  is,  however,  even  the  character  of 
Eugenie  loses  its  effectiveness  owing  to  the  world  in 
which,  she  moves — a world  of  vague  outlines,  peopled 
by  nameless  and  more  or  less  shadowy  beings. 

But  the  most  remarkable  characteristic  of  the 
play  is  the  style  in  which  it  is  written.  In  his  Tag- 
und  Jahreshefte,  under  the  date  1801,  Goethe  notes 
that  he  had  been  reproached  by  his  friends  for 
translating  French  plays  for  the  Weimar  theatre. 
The  truth  is  that  in  the  classical  French  drama  he 
saw  a nearer  approach  to  that  of  the  Greeks  than  in 
anything  that  had  been  produced  in  Germany,  and 
he  was  convinced  that  an  acquaintance  with  the 
best  work  of  the  French  dramatists  might  help  to 
cure  the  tendency  to  formlessness  which  he  regarded 
as  the  vice  of  German  literature.  In  point  of  fact, 
his  own  play  has  all  the  characteristics  of  Racine  and 
Voltaire.  In  its  regularity  of  form  and  in  its  dignified 
restraint  it  is  precisely  after  their  model,  and  in 


500  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

its  style  it  is  an  equally  close  reproduction  of  their 
manner.  Passages  such  as  the  following  may  suffice 
to  show  to  what  extent  Goethe  had  surrendered 
himself  to  “ poetic  diction  ” in  its  most  artificial 
form.  The  Secretary  thus  addresses  the  governess — 

Wenn  ich  des  Gliickes  Fiillhom  dir  auf  einmal, 

Nach  langem  Hoffen,  vor  die  Fiisse  schiitte, 

Wenn  sich  die  Morgenrtite  jenes  Tags, 

Der  unsem  Bund  auf  ewig  griinden  soli, 

Am  Horizonte  feierlich  erhebt ; 

So  scheinst  du  nun  verlegen,  widerwillig 
Den  Antrag  eines  Brautigams  zu  flieben. 

This  is  a line  put  in  the  mouth  of  the  Judge — 

Wenn  Pbobus  nun  ein  feuerwallend  Lager  sich  bereitet. 

It  is  one  of  the  ironies  of  Goethe’s  literary  career 
that  he  who  in  his  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  the  first  of 
his  works  to  draw  to  him  the  attention  of  the  world, 
defiantly  set  at  naught  all  the  conventions  of  the 
French  drama,  should,  as  the  result  of  his  theorizing 
on  art  and  literature,  have  given  to  the  world  a 
work  which  is  an  explicit  recantation  of  his  youthful 
challenge  ; and  it  is  a further  irony  that  the  work 
of  his  youth  remains  a more  living  product  than  the 
work  of  his  maturity,  composed  after  so  many  j'ears’ 
observation  and  reflection.  Yet,  while  Die  natiir- 
liche  Tochter  has  been  coldly  regarded  from  its  first 
appearance,  a work  so  deeply  meditated  by  a poet 
of  the  stature  of  Goethe,  could  not  fail  to  possess  some 
high  distinctiveness  that  marks  the  hand  of  the 
master.  A phrase  in  which  Madame  de  Stael  summed 
up  her  impression  of  it  not  inadequately  character- 
izes its  strength  and  weakness  ; the  feeling  it  produced 
in  her,  she  said,  was  a noble  ennui.  The  ennui  is 
the  result  of  its  artificial  style,  the  vagueness  of  the 
characters,  and  its  torpid  action,  but  along  with  this 
feeling  we  have  at  times  the  sensation  as  of  listening 
to  a solemn  music,  the  burden  of  which  is  some 
mysterious  destinj^  that  is  being  fulfilled. 

Another  work  of  the  same  period,  also  a fragment, 


THE  ACHILLEIS  501 

is  a remarkable  illustration  of  Goethe’s  obsession  by 
Greek  models.  One  of  the  subjects  discussed  by 
Schiller  and  Goethe  in  their  correspondence  was  the 
contrasted  requirements  of  the  epic  and  the  drama, 
and  the  discussion  suggested  to  Goethe  the  writing 
of  an  epic  in  which  he  should  apply  the  principles 
at  which  they  had  arrived.  We  have  seen  how  he 
had  thought  of  Tell  as  a suitable  theme  for  epic 
treatment,  but  had  finally  abandoned  the  idea. 
Another  topic  that  had  occurred  to  him  was  that 
which  he  subsequently  embodied  in  the  tale  entitled 
Die  Jagd.  Finally,  in  December,  1797,  he  fixed  on 
a subject  from  the  Homeric  world  itself.  Between 
the  death  of  Hector,  with  which  the  Iliad  closes,  and 
the  departure  of  the  Greeks  after  the  burning  of 
Troy,  he  conceived  that  there  was  scope  for  a poem 
in  the  Homeric  manner.  So  closely  did  he  think 
of  reproducing  Homer  that  he  meant  to  imitate  him 
even  where  he  thought  he  was  faulty,  in  order,  he 
says,  that  he  might  not  miss  his  “ feeling  and  tone  ” — • 
an  intention,  Schiller  objected,  which  must  have 
had  unhappy  results.  As  frequently  happened  with 
Goethe,  a considerable  interval  elapsed  between 
conception  and  execution,  and  it  was  not  till  March — 
April,  1799,  that  he  composed  the  first  “ book  ” 
extending  to  561  lines,  all  of  the  poem  that  was  ever 
written.  The  fragment  opens  with  a description  of 
the  burning  of  the  funeral  pile  of  Hector,  and  of 
Achilles  hastening  the  building  of  his  own  tomb  in 
view  of  his  expected  early  death.  The  scene  then 
changes  to  Olympus  where  the  Gods,  with  conflicting 
sympathies,  debate  the  hero’s  approaching  doom. 
Finally  Athena,  with  the  approval  of  Hera,  descends 
from  Olympus  and  in  the  guise  of  Antilochus,  the 
son  of  Nestor,  approaches  Achilles  and  consoles  him 
with  the  assurance  that  early  death  is  the  most 
certain  guarantee  of  immortal  fame.  Here  the 
fragment  ends,  but  from  the  sketch  of  the  further 
development  of  the  poem  which  Goethe  has  left, 
we  learn  that  Achilles  was  to  receive  consolation  of 


502  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

another  kind  ; he  was  to  fall  in  love  with  the  Trojan 
Polyxena,  and  “ forget  his  doom  in  accordance  with 
the  madness  of  his  nature.”  From  the  first  the 
Achilleis  has  met  with  all  but  uniform  condemnation, 
even  in  Germany,  as  an  impossible  attempt.1  The 
great  Wolf  disapproved  of  it,  and  another  contem- 
porary scholar  declared  that  it  did  not  contain  a 
single  Homeric  line.  But  Goethe  himself,  at  a later 
date,  used  of  the  French  Revolution  words  that 
sufficiently  explain  the  lack  of  success  of  the  poem. 
“For  a nation,”  he  said,  “ nothing  is  good  unless  it 
has  been  evolved  from  within  and  from  its  own 
general  needs,  without  slavish  imitation  of  another. . . . 
All  attempts  to  introduce  any  outlandish  novelty, 
the  need  for  which  is  not  rooted  in  the  heart  of  the 
nation,  are  foolish,  and  all  such  contemplated  revolu- 
tions fail;  for  they  are  without  God,  who  Himself 
refrains  from  such  bungling.” 

Conceived  in  a lighter  mood  was  a series  of 
dramatic  sketches  which  Goethe,  in  his  capacity  of 
Court  poet  and  director  of  the  Weimar  theatre,  exe- 
cuted during  the  same  period — Die  Befreiung  des 
Prometheus  (1795)  ; Paldophron  und  Neoterpe  (1800)  ; 
Maskenzug  zurn  30  Januar  (1802)  ; and  Was  wir 
bringen  (1802).  Of  the  first  of  these  pieces  only 
seventeen  lines  were  written,  and  we  may  regret 
that  Goethe  did  not  work  out  his  conception,  since 
it  would  have  been  interesting  to  compare  it  with 
Shelley’s  treatment  of  the  same  theme  in  his  Prome- 
theus Unbound.  Paldophron  und  Neoterpe  is  one  of 
the  happiest  of  the  lighter  things  that  Goethe 
produced.  Written  to  be  played  at  the  opening  of 
the  new  century,  it  is  in  the  form  of  an  allegory, 
which  is  meant  to  convey  the  general  truth  that 
the  old  and  the  new  time  have  mutual  lessons  for 
each  other,  but  also  to  have  special  reference  to 
the  new  developments  in  German  literature  at  the 

1 In  his  History  of  German  Literature  W.  Scherer  praises  it,  but  he  admits 
that  “ even  after  about  four  hundred  lines  we  feel  somewhat  wearied.” 
Translation  by  Mrs.  F.  C.  Conybeare,  II.  194. 


DRAMATIC  SKETCHES  503 

close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Neoterpe  represents 
the  new  time,  and,  attended  by  two  froward  children, 
she  seeks  refuge  in  a temple  from  the  pursuit  of 
Palaophron,  the  representative  of  what  is  old.  Palao- 
phron,  accompanied  by  two  repulsive-looking  old 
men,  finds  Neoterpe  in  the  temple,  and  there  ensues 
a dialogue  between  them,  the  outcome  of  which  is 
that  they  agree  to  dismiss  their  unpleasant  attendants 
and  to  form  a harmonious  union.  In  equally  happy 
humour  is  conceived  Was  wir  bringen , composed 
for  the  opening  of  the  new  Lauchstadt  theatre,  and 
also  in  the  form  of  an  allegory.  The  conversation 
of  the  old  peasant  with  his  wife  when  she  learns 
that  he  is  about  to  pull  down  their  cottage  and 
erect  a mansion  in  its  place,  is  highly  entertaining, 
though  the  latter  part  of  the  allegory  is  somewhat 
cumbrous  and  complicated.  Aimed  at  the  new 
school  of  literature,  which  was  vehemently  protesting 
against  the  restraint  of  classical  conventions,  are  the 
lines  which  are  among  the  best  known  Goethe  has 
written — 

So  ist’s  mit  aller  Bildung  auch  beschaffen, 

Vergebens  werden  ungebunde  Geister 
Nach  der  Vollendung  reiner  Hohe  streben. 

Wer  Grosses  will,  muss  sich  zusammenraffen. 

In  der  Beschrankung  zeigt  sich  erst  der  Meister, 

Und  das  Gesetz  nur  kann  uns  Freiheit  geben. 

In  one  of  his  letters  to  Schiller,  Goethe  says  that 
he  owed  to  him  his  rebirth  as  a poet,  and  the  number 
and  quality  of  the  shorter  poems  produced  during 
his  association  with  Schiller  is  speaking  testimony 
to  the  fact.  Not  even  during  the  prolific  years 
preceding  his  settlement  in  Weimar  did  he  give  more 
convincing  proof  of  the  richness  of  his  poetic  vein 
when  he  was  in  the  mood  to  work  it.  During  his 
Schiller  period  he  wrote  over  seventy  short  pieces, 
many  of  them  among  his  most  memorable  things  of 
the  kind.  Broadly  these  pieces  are  divisible  into 
two  classes.  The  first,  and  much  smaller  class, 
includes  poems  inspired  by  Greek  models  or  Pagan 


504  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

sentiment,  while  the  second,  in  form  and  content, 
sprang  directly  from  the  world  around  him. 

The  reader  of  Goethe’s  poems  will  always  turn 
with  interest  to  the  section  which  he  entitled  the 
Second  Book  of  his  Elegies.1  The  elegies  it  contains 
are  six  in  number,  and  all  are  written,  after  the 
antique  manner,  in  the  form  of  distichs  with  alter- 
nating hexameters  and  pentameters.  Of  the  six, 
four  ( Euphrosyne , Das  Wiedersehn,  Amyntas,  and 
Hermann  und  Dorothea  2)  give  direct  expression  to 
his  own  experience,  and  two  ( Alexis  und  Dora  and 
Der  neue  Pausias  und  seine  Blumenmddchen  3)  are 
pure  idylls  in  which  the  poet  transports  us  into  the 
ancient  world.  Nowhere  in  his  work  inspired  by  the 
Greeks  has  Goethe  more  happily  attained  his  end 
than  in  these  two  idylls.  By  long  and  assiduous 
practice  he  had  gained  a mastery  over  his  verse- 
form  which  enabled  him  to  play  with  it  as  with  a 
native  instrument.  In  this  case  theme,  expression, 
and  treatment  are  all  in  harmony  and  awaken  no 
feeling  of  incongruity  such  as  is  produced  by  passages 
in  the  epic  of  Hermann  und  Dorothea. 

Two  poems  that  belong  to  this  time,  though  not 
written  in  a classical  measure,  eminently  reveal 
Goethe’s  pagan  sympathies  and  his  aversion  to 
Christian  asceticism.  In  the  one,  Die  erste  Walpur- 
gisnacht,  we  are  in  the  epoch  and  in  the  world  when 
the  Church  was  seeking  to  impose  its  creed  on  the 
barbarians,  to  whose  natural  instincts  it  was  abhor- 
rent. On  the  first  of  May  the  chief  Druid  summons 
the  people  to  assist  him  in  honouring  the  true  God, 
the  All-father,  with  the  customary  rite,  the  kindling 
of  a great  fire ; but  they  are  in  terror  of  the  Christian 
priests  inspired  by  their  “ fabulous  devil.”  The 
fire  is  kindled,  however,  and  a Druid  chants 
these  wrords  expressing  the  implication  of  the 

The  First  Book  contains  the  Roman  Elegies. 

2 Not  to  be  confused  with  the  epic  of  this  name,  discussed  above. 

3 There  are  evident  recollections  of  Christiane  Vulpius  in  Der  neue 
Pausias. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS  505 

poem — that  Christian  asceticism  is  contrary  to 
nature — 

So  weit  gebracht, 

Dass  wir  bei  Nacht 
Allvater  heimlich  singen ! 

Doch  ist  es  Tag, 

Sobald  man  mag 
Em  reines  Herz  dir  bringen. 

Du  kannst  zwar  heut 
Und  manche  Zeit 
Dem  Feinde  viel  erlauben. 

Die  Flamme  reinigt  sich  vom  Rauch  : 

So  rein’ge  unsem  Glauben  ! 

Und  raubt  man  uns  den  alten  Brauch, 

Dem  Licht,  wer  will  es  rauben  ? 

Meantime  a band  of  Christian  watchers  see 
the  flames  ascending  to  heaven  and  monstrous  forms 
of  men  and  women  weaving  a satanic  dance  in  their 
midst ; and  the  poem  ends  with  the  refrain  of  the 
Druid  just  quoted. 

A more  explicit  and  more  remarkable  expression 
of  Goethe’s  pagan  sympathies  is  contained  in  the 
second  of  the  two  poems,  Die  Braut  von  Corinth. 
An  Athenian  youth  comes  to  Corinth  to  claim  the 
bride  to  whom  he  has  been  pledged  by  the  parents 
of  both.  But  since  their  betrothal  the  girl’s  family, 
unknown  to  him,  have  become  Christian.  He  arrives 
late  at  night,  and  is  received  by  the  mother  who, 
after  setting  a repast  before  him,  leaves  him  alone. 
Dejected  at  not  seeing  his  bride,  he  throws  himself 
on  the  bed,  but  has  hardly  closed  his  eyes  when  the 
door  opens  and  there  appears  a figure  clad  in  a white 
veil  and  robe,  with  a black  and  gold  fillet  about  her 
brow,  the  dress  of  a nun.  It  is  his  destined  bride, 
and  in  the  conversation  that  ensues  between  them 
she  relates  her  fate.  In  accordance  with  their  new 
faith,  which  condemns  all  earthly  pleasures,  her 
parents  have  placed  her  in  a cloister  whence  she  has 
come  to  assure  him  of  her  love.  They  exchange 
gifts  ; she  presents  him  with  a chain  of  gold ; and, 
rejecting  his  offer  of  a gold  chalice,  she  requests  a 


506  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

lock  of  Iris  hair.  The  hour  of  midnight  strikes,  when 
she  is  freed  from  a spell  that  bound  her,  drinks  the 
wine  her  lover  presents  to  her,  but  refuses  to  partake 
of  the  bread.  Passion  on  his  side  follows,  but  it 
is  only  the  semblance  of  passion  which  she  can  give 
in  return.  The  mother,  passing  the  door,  hears  the 
sounds  within  and  enters,  when  her  daughter  up- 
braids her  with  the  broken  troth,  but  tells  her  that, 
despite  the  priests  of  the  new  faith,  love  will  claim 
its  own  even  from  the  grave.  She  ends  by  entreating 
that  a funeral  pile  be  kindled  for  herself  and  her 
lover  that  so  together  they  may  hasten  to  the  old 
Gods.  Nowhere  has  Goethe  presented  so  harshly 
the  contrast  between  Paganism  and  Christianity 
as  in  this  weird  poem.  Its  impressiveness  and  power 
cannot  be  denied,  but  the  ghastliness  of  its  subject 
is  almost  too  great  to  permit  the  feeling  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  Our  wonder,  indeed,  is  that  Goethe,  who 
shrank  from  all  that  is  painful  and  morbid,  should 
have  written  it.  He  himself  called  it  a “ vampire  ” 
production,  and  the  word  suggests  all  that  was 
alien  to  the  temperament  of  Goethe,  for  whom 
sunlight  and  the  healthy  flow  of  blood  were  necessaiy 
goods. 

It  is  from  the  poems  of  the  Schiller  period  com- 
posed in  native  measures  and  prompted  by  direct 
personal  experience  that  we  receive  the  liveliest 
impression  of  the  range  of  Goethe’s  poetic  gift  and 
of  his  manifold  interests.  The}7  greatly  outnumber 
those  written  in  the  antique  manner,  and  suggest 
Goethe’s  returning  interest  in  native  forms  and  native 
themes  which  was  to  be  decisively  manifested  before 
Schiller’s  death  in  1805.  Goethe  had  never  theorized 
regarding  the  lyric  as  he  had  theorized  regarding 
the  epic  and  the  drama,  and  the  lyrics  he  now  wrote 
have  all  the  lightness  of  touch,  the  directness,  terse- 
ness and  simplicity  which  he  had  acquired  before 
his  going  to  Weimar.  Love  is  their  principal  theme, 
and  it  is  treated  in  ever}'  mood  of  the  lover — seriously 
as  in  the  Schafers  Klagelied,  in  Trost  in  Thrdnen,  and 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS  507 

in  Nachtgesang  ; playfully  as  in  Die  Strode  and  Die 
Bekehrte.  Notable  among  his  shorter  poems  is  the 
series  of  ballads,  most  of  them  the  product  of  1797, 
the  “ballad  year.”  In  these  he  displays  all  his 
early  mastery  of  that  form,  though  none  have  the 
glamour  of  Erlkonig  and  Der  Fischer.  In  Die  Welt- 
seele  and  Die  Metamorphose  der  Planzen  we  have 
work  of  another  kind — the  former  expounding 
Schelling’s  conception  of  nature  in  which  Goethe  was 
so  greatly  interested,  and  the  latter  (addressed  to 
Christiane  Vulpius)  an  exposition  of  the  theory  of 
plant  development  at  which  he  had  arrived  as  the 
result  of  his  own  investigations.  Other  noteworthy 
poems  belonging  to  the  same  time  are  such  as  Der 
Gott  und  Die  Bajadere,  in  which  we  have  a counter- 
part to  Die  Braut  von  Corinth,  as  its  moral  is  that  of 
the  story  of  the  Magdalene  in  the  Gospels  ; and  the 
series  of  distichs,  Vier  Jahreszeiten,1  embodying 
Goethe’s  maturest  reflections  on  human  life  and 
experience,  certain  of  which  are  among  his  sayings 
best  known  to  the  world.  It  may  be  said,  in  brief, 
that  the  shorter  poems  written  by  Goethe  during  the 
period  of  his  intercourse  with  Schiller  would  by 
themselves  convince  us  that  they  could  only  have 
been  produced  by  one  who  was  as  great  as  a thinker 
as  he  was  as  a poet. 

1 As,  for  example,  his  well-known  reflection  on  the  effect  of  the  French 
Revolution : — 

Franzthum  drangt  in  diesen  verworrenen  Tagen,  wie  ehmals 

Lutherthum  e3  gethan,  ruhige  Bildung  zuriick. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


WRITINGS  IN  PROSE  DURING  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

During  the  Schiller  period  Goethe  produced,  besides 
poetry,  a considerable  body  of  prose,  mainly  expound- 
ing the  opinions  on  life  and  art  by  which  he  was  now 
dominated — opinions,  it  may  be  said,  which  were 
subsequently  to  undergo  important  modifications. 
Two  of  the  longest  productions  that  belong  to  this 
time  may  surprise  us  as  coming  from  the  hand  of 
one  who,  like  Goethe,  had  the  gift  of  original  creation. 
The  first  was  a translation  of  the  autobiography  of 
Benvenuto  Cellini ; the  other,  a translation  of 
Diderot’s  Le  Neveu  de  Rameau.  In  undertaking 
such  work,  however,  he  had  a definite  object  in  view. 
At  no  time  of  his  career  did  he  regard  himself  solely 
as  a poet.  His  overmastering  impulse  from  the 
beginning  had  been  to  attain  for  himself  a clear 
conception  of  his  own  place  in  the  world  and  of  the 
conditions  under  which  his  life  could  best  be  enjoyed 
and  fulfilled.  Such  a conception,  he  was  satisfied, 
he  had  now  won  for  himself,  and  he  directly  and 
indirectly  sought  to  give  it  to  the  world.  And  as 
a means  of  spreading  the  light,  he  attached  high 
importance  to  the  value  of  translations.  “ People 
may  say  what  they  like  of  the  inadequacy  of  trans- 
lation,” he  wrote  in  a letter  to  Carlyle,  “it  is  and  it 
remains  one  of  the  weightiest  and  wort  hiest  of  employ- 
ments in  the  general  fife  of  the  world.” 

We  can  readily  understand  how  he  was  attracted 
to  the  figure  of  Benvenuto  Cellini.  No  two  men, 
indeed,  could  present  a greater  contrast  than  Goethe, 
as  he  had  now  become,  and  the  swashbuckling  hero 

608 


BENVENUTO  CELLINI 


509 


of  Cellini’s  autobiography.  But  there  was  a double 
reason  for  Goethe’s  interest  in  Cellini ; Benvenuto 
was  an  exquisite  artist,  devoted  to  art  throughout 
all  his  strange  career,  and,  as  Goethe  himself  tells 
us,  he  is  to  be  regarded  as  “ a representative  of  his 
own  century,  and,  perhaps,  of  collective  humanity.” 
Moreover,  the  age  of  which  Cellini  was  so  typical  a 
figure,  the  age  of  the  Renaissance,  had  a special 
interest  for  Goethe,  as  he  saw  in  it  a serious  effort  to 
recover  those  classical  ideals  which  were  for  himself 
the  true  ideals  to  be  striven  after  by  progressive 
humanity.  It  was  in  1795  that  he  first  conceived 
the  idea  of  translating  Cellini’s  Autobiography,  and 
he  proposed  to  Schiller  that  his  translation,  as  it 
proceeded,  should  appear  in  the  successive  monthly 
issues  of  Die  Horen.  During  1796  and  1797  fragments 
of  the  work  were  actually  published  in  Die  Horen — 
an  ill-advised  arrangement,  as  by  their  intermittent 
appearance  they  lost  continuity  of  interest.  When 
in  1803,  however,  the  translation  appeared  as  a 
whole,  it  was  warmly  received  both  by  Goethe’s 
friends  and  by  his  enemies,  and  it  has  since  retained 
its  place  as  one  of  the  classical  translations  in  German 
literature.  Yet,  as  a translation,  it  is  recognized  as 
intrinsically  faulty,  based  as  it  is  on  an  imperfect 
manuscript,  and  rendered  in  a style  that  curiously 
fails  to  reproduce  the  characteristics  of  the  original. 
But  the  importance  of  the  translation  for  the  student 
of  Goethe  is  in  the  Anhang — the  illustrative  commen- 
taries that  are  attached  to  it.  In  these  commen- 
taries on  the  art  and  the  artists  of  Cellini’s  time, 
we  have  the  translator’s  matured  reflections  on  the 
observations  he  had  made  during  his  Italian  journey 
and  on  his  subsequent  studies  in  conjunction  with  his 
friend  Meyer.  The  most  notable  of  his  comments 
is  that  in  which  he  describes  Florence  under  the 
Medicis  as  an  ideal  environment  for  the  free  develop- 
ment of  healthy  human  instincts.  Characteristic 
of  his  abhorrence  of  Christian  asceticism  is  his  passing 
reference  to  Savonarola,  whom  he  regarded  as  a 


510 


THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

monstrous  apparition  in  a paradise  of  art.  “ To 
this  grand,  beautiful,  cheerful  life  a ridiculous, 
visionary  creature,  the  monk  Savonarola  offers  an 
ungrateful,  stubborn,  terrible  opposition,  and  casts 
a sacerdotal  gloom  over  the  hereditary  cheerfulness 
of  the  Medicis  in  the  hour  of  death.”  1 As  we  shall 
see,  there  was  a special  reason  for  Goethe’s  contemp- 
tuous judgment  on  Savonarola — a judgment,  we  may 
think,  as  intemperate  as  that  of  any  sectary. 

The  other  writer,  Diderot,  whom  Goethe  chose  to 
translate,  was  as  opposite  in  nature  to  himself  as 
Cellini.  In  his  own  way  Diderot  was  as  remarkable 
an  individuality  as  the  complex  Italian.  His 
ebullient  temperament  and  his  audacious  paradoxes 2 
challenged  Goethe  to  return  upon  his  own  convictions, 
and  in  none  of  Diderot’s  writings  are  these  character- 
istics so  remarkably  displayed  as  in  the  work  which 
he  translated — Le  Neveu  de  Rameau.  It  was  by 
accident  that  Goethe  was  led  to  undertake  the  task. 
The  manuscript  of  the  work,  which  was  not  published 
during  Diderot’s  lifetime,  came  into  the  hands  of 
Catharine  of  Russia,  and  a transcription  of  it  was 
made  by  Klinger,  the  friend  of  Goethe’s  youth,  who 
forwarded  it  to  Schiller’s  father-in-law.  Goethe 
received  the  manuscript  from  Schiller  to  whom,  in 
December,  1804,  he  announced  his  intention  of 
translating  it.  By  the  close  of  the  following  January, 
Goethe  sent  the  completed  translation  to  Schiller, 
who,  however,  did  not  live  to  see  its  publication,  as 
it  did  not  appear  till  a few  days  after  his  death  on 
Majr  9. 3 

As  in  the  case  of  his  translation  of  Cellini,  it  is 
Goethe’s  annotations  to  Diderot’s  work  that  here 
specially  concern  us.  One  of  his  ends  in  undertaking 
the  task,  he  tells  us,  was  to  make  known  to  Germany 


1 There  is  a reference  to  conversations  which  Savonarola  had  with 
Lorenzo  dei  Medici  on  his  deathbed. 

2 Goethe  called  Diderot  a “ sophist  of  genius.” 

3 Goethe  also  translated  Diderot’s  Essai  surla  Peinture  with  commen- 
taries. 


DIDEROT  511 

the  literature  and  general  culture  of  France,  to 
which  he  himself  always  acknowledged  his  deep 
obligation.  With  this  object  he  comments  in  detail 
on  the  persons  and  themes  of  the  dialogue,  and,  in 
the  course  of  his  remarks,  occasionally  makes  inte- 
resting revelations  regarding  himself.  Speaking  of 
D’Alembert,  for  example,  he  complains  that  captious 
people  have  found  fault  with  his  many-sided  interests, 
maintaining  that  he  should  have  been  content  with  the 
fame  he  had  won  in  his  own  field,  “ as  if,”  comments 
Goethe,  rebutting  a reproach  which  was  directed 
against  himself,  “as  if  unity  of  life  with  like-minded 
persons  through  serious  sympathy  with  their  various 
pursuits  and  achievements  had  not  the  highest 
value.”  But  the  most  suggestive  self-revelation 
on  Goethe’s  part  is  contained  in  an  excursus  in  which 
he  surveys  the  development  of  taste  in  French 
literature.1  The  Greeks  and  many  of  the  Romans, 
he  says,  show  real  taste  in  keeping  the  different 
kinds  of  composition  apart  from  one  another,  but 
it  would  be  a mistake  to  direct  the  northern  peoples 
exclusively  to  these  models.  We  have  other  ancestors 
to  boast  of,  and  many  other  examples  to  follow. 
Had  not  the  prodigious  been  brought  into  contact 
with  the  absurd  through  the  romantic  turn  of  the 
dark  ages,  we  should  have  had  no  Hamlet,  no  Lear, 
nor  the  best  things  of  Calderon.  It  is  our  duty, 
therefore,  he  concludes,  “ to  maintain  ourselves 
with  courage  on  the  heights  of  these  barbaric  advan- 
tages, since  we  shall  probably  never  attain  to  those 
that  the  ancients  enjoyed.”  Written  in  1805,  the 
passage  clearly  indicates  that  Goethe  was  coming 
to  believe  that  great  literature  could  be  produced  on 
other  lines  than  those  of  the  classical  models,  and  his 
own  future  examplewas  to  give  convincing  illustration 
of  the  fact. 

Goethe’s  object  in  his  translations  of  Cellini  and 

1 In  an  interesting  note  on  Voltaire  Goethe  denies  him  only  two  qualities 
which  should  be  found  in  a great  writer — depth  and  finish  {Tiefe  and 
Vollendung). 


512  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

Diderot  had  been  to  promote  the  general  culture  of 
his  countrymen  by  broadening  their  views  on  life 
and  art,  but  he  had  a special  message  for  them  which 
had  to  be  conveyed  in  more  direct  fashion.  We 
have  seen  how,  in  conjunction  with  Meyer,  he  had 
contemplated  a history  of  Italian  art  with  the  express 
intention  of  raising  the  aesthetic  standard  of  Germany. 
He  had  abandoned  this  idea  as  beyond  the  resources 
at  his  disposal,  but  it  was  more  and  more  brought 
home  to  him  that  in  the  interests  of  art,  as  in  the 
interests  of  his  nation’s  intellectual  development, 
men’s  eyes  should  be  opened  to  truer  ideals  of  artistic 
production.  “ Such  twaddle  as  is  now  current 
regarding  principles,”  he  wrote  to  Schiller  in  Novem- 
ber, 1797,  “ was  probably  never  before  heard  in  the 
world.”  Iri  the  following  year  he  took  a practical 
step  ; in  collaboration  with  Meyer,  he  started  a 
journal  under  the  title  Propylden,1  which  was  to 
appear  in  parts  and  to  be  wholly  devoted  to  the 
discussion  of  art.2  The  Propylaen  was  as  unhappy 
a failure  as  Die  Horen  ; of  the  1300  copies  printed 
by  its  publisher,  Cotta,  less  than  450  were  sold,  and 
at  the  end  of  three  years  it  expired.  Schiller  was 
even  more  indignant  than  Goethe  at  this  their  second 
failure  to  win  currency  for  that  gospel  of  art  which 
both  were  profoundly  convinced  was  for  the  saving 
of  humanity.  But  we  now  know  that  they  were, 
in  truth,  fighting  a losing  battle  ; a new  generation 
had  arisen,  with  ideals  in  literature  and  art  which 
made  a more  direct  appeal  to  national  instincts 
and  national  tradition.  Moreover,  Goethe’s  manner 
of  exposition  was  not  fitted  to  attract  the  majority 
of  readers.  His  style  has  neither  the  terseness  and 
trenchancy  of  Lessing  in  his  Laocoon,  nor  the  rhetorical 
flow  of  Schiller  in  his  aesthetic  disquisitions.  Goethe 
now  wrote  as  he  was  henceforth  to  write — in  a style 
that  closely  follows  every  intricacy  of  the  subject, 

1 The  celebrated  portal  to  the  temple  of  Athena  and  other  buildings  on 
the  Acropolis  at  Athens. 

2 Schiller,  Voss,  and  Wilhelm  Humboldt  were  also  to  be  contributors. 


AESTHETIC  DOCTRINE  513 

but  slow,  involvedfand  verbose.1  Wbat  we  may 
note  in  passing,  as  implied  in  the  failure  of  Die  Horen 
and  the  Propylden,  is  that  at  the  period  before  us 
Goethe’s  was  not  a name  of  power,  even  in  the  general 
literary  world  of  Germany. 

His  leading  aesthetic  principles,  as  they  are  set 
forth  in  the  Propylden,  may  be  briefly  stated.  It 
was,  as  we  know,  after  long  observation  and  reflection 
that  he  had  reached  them.  When  a student  at 
Leipzig,  he  had  imbibed  from  Oeser  the  doctrine 
that  simplicity  and  repose  formed  the  ideal  of  great 
art,  and  that  only  by  the  Greeks  had  that  ideal  been 
realized.  In  Strassburg  the  sight  of  the  cathedral 
awoke  in  him  an  enthusiasm  for  Gothic  architecture 
which  was  of  short  duration.  On  his  way  home 
from  Strassburg  his  faith,  he  tells  us,  was  shaken  by 
the  specimens  of  ancient  art  he  saw  at  Mannheim, 
and  his  distaste  for  the  Gothic  gradually  increased 
till  at  Venice,  in  the  course  of  his  first  Italian  journey, 
he  declared  himself  definitively  emancipated  from 
its  fantastic  follies.  Since  he  had  returned  from  that 
journey,  he  had  arrived  at  certain  conclusions 
regarding  the  necessary  conditions  of  beauty  in 
architecture,  painting,  and  sculpture,  and  it  was 
these  conclusions  which  he  now  expounded  in  the 
Pro'pylcien. 

Goethe’s  object  in  his  contributions  to  the 
Propylden  was  expressly  practical ; it  was  to  direct 
the  artist’s  attention  to  the  best  specimens  of  art 
in  their  respective  kinds  and  to  indicate  how  they 
may  most  profitably  be  studied.  By  this  practical 
aim,  Goethe’s  writings  on  aesthetics  are  sharply 
distinguished  from  those  of  Schiller,  who  moves  only 
in  a world  of  abstract  theory.  If  Goethe  makes  use 
of  the  word  theory,  he  is  careful  to  tell  us  that  he  does 
not  use  it  in  the  sense  of  the  philosophers,  at  whom 
he  scoffs  by  the  way  ; theory  for  him  implies  only 

1 In  an  address  to  the  Berlin  Academy  the  physicist  du  Bois-Raymond 
said  that  Goethe  had  had  far  from  a good  influence  on  German  style, 
and  he  compared  him  unfavourably  with  Voltaire  and  Lessing. 

VOL.  II. 


I 


514  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

the  general  conclusions  which  are  forced  on  the  artist 
in  the  course  of  practising  his  art.  The  fundamental 
question  for  the  artist  is — how  he  should  stand  related 
to  nature,  the  treasure-house  from  which  he  draws 
his  subjects.  Goethe’s  contention  is  that  the  artist 
must  have  a thorough  knowledge  of  the  nature  of 
the  object  he  seeks  to  reproduce.  To  paint  a horse 
successfully  he  must  know  its  inner  structure  as 
well  as  its  external  appearance  ; to  paint  a stone 
adequately  he  must  realize  in  what  respects  it  is 
differentiated  from  other  species  of  stones.  Only 
by  such  knowledge  is  the  artist  able  to  note  what  is 
“ interesting,  significant,  and  characteristic  ” in  the 
subject  he  may  choose  for  treatment.  This  last 
term  characteristic  has  a large  place  in  Goethe’s 
testhetic  doctrine.  We  have  the  characteristic  of 
any  object,  animate  or  inanimate,  when  we  strip 
it  of  its  individual  peculiarities  and  thus  form  a con- 
ception ( Begriff ) of  its  essential  nature.  The  cha- 
racteristic is  a necessary  element  of  all  artistic  beauty, 
but  of  itself  it  does  not  constitute  that  beauty. 
Beauty,  which  is  the  crowning  quality  of  a work  of 
art,  does  not  proceed  from  the  object,  but  from  the 
mind  of  the  artist  himself.  A portrait,  for  example, 
can  have  little  value,  “ unless  the  painter  is  in  the 
highest  sense  its  creator.”  From  what  has  been  said 
it  will  be  seen  what  Goethe  understands  by  the 
ideal  in  art.  The  ideal  is  not  the  unconditioned 
creation  of  the  artist’s  mind,  but  the  expression  of 
the  essential  nature  of  the  subject  represented. 
Nature  herself,  owing  to  the  conditions  under  which 
she  works,  is  unable  to  produce  the  ideal  type  and 
it  is  the  function  of  the  artist  to  realize  it.  Such  are 
the  leading  principles  which  Goethe  set  forth  in  the 
Pro'pylaen  for  the  guidance  of  artists.  The}’  were 
unheeded  at  the  time  and  subsequently  they  had 
little  influence.1  To  many  of  his  countrymen, 

1 There  is  a close  resemblance  on  many  points  between  the  aesthetic 
doctrine  of  Goethe  and  that  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  in  his  Discourses 
(1769-90). 


515 


ESSAY  ON  WINCKELMANN 

indeed,  liis  attempt  to  lay  down  laws  for  the  national 
development  of  art  has  seemed  a naivete  explicable 
only  by  a temporary  obsession. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  pieces  of  prose  in 
the  whole  range  of  Goethe’s  writings  was  produced 
at  the  close  of  his  association  with  Schiller — his 
Essay  entitled,  W inckehnann  und  sein  Jahrhundert. 
In  Winckelmann  Goethe  had  been  interested  from 
his  earliest  youth.  From  his  Autobiography  we 
know  with  what  enthusiasm  he  read  Winckelmann’ s 
writings  on  art  while  he  was  a student  in  Leipzig, 
and  with  what  dismay  he  heard  of  his  assassination 
on  the  eve  of  an  intended  visit  to  Oeser,  then  Goethe’s 
mentor  in  art.  We  have  seen  also,  how,  at  a later 
date,  Winckelmann’s  History  of  Ancient  Art  had 
guided  and  instructed  him  in  his  exploration  of  the 
antiquities  of  Rome.  Winckelmann  is,  indeed,  to  be 
reckoned  among  the  chief  influences  in  his  develop- 
ment, and  it  was  with  youthful  fervour  that  he  now 
undertook  to  make  his  significance  known  to  the 
world.  Itwas  again  an  accident  that  was  the  occasion 
of  the  work.  The  letters  of  Winckelmann  to  a 
friend  1 came  into  his  hands,  and  he  resolved  to  edit 
them  with  three  commentaries : one  by  himself, 

the  others  by  Meyer  and  Wolf.  Goethe’s  contribu- 
tion, begun  in  December,  1804,  was  finished  in  the 
opening  of  the  following  year,  and  the  completed 
work  was  sent  to  the  press  on  April  19 — less  than  a 
month  before  Schiller’s  death. 

Goethe’s  essay  is  not  a detailed  biography  but 
a characterization,  tracing  on  broad  lines  Winckel- 
mann’s development  from  the  uncongenial  conditions 
of  his  youth  till  his  settlement  in  Rome,  where  his 
genius  found  its  free  development.  For  Goethe, 
Winckelmann  was  not  only  a writer  on  ancient  art 
possessed  by  Greek  ideals,  but  also  a man  who  in 
his  life  and  character  illustrated  all  the  Pagan  virtues. 
On  his  return  from  Italy,  Goethe  had  frankly  called 

1 Hieronymus  Dieterich  Berendis,  who  was  settled  in  Weimar  as  an 
official  attached  to  the  Duchess  Amalia. 


516 


THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

himself  a Pagan,  and  in  his  presentation  of  Winckel- 
mann  he  is  really  depicting  himself  and  his  own 
conception  of  the  highest  human  ideal.  In  what  that 
ideal  consisted,  he  has  explained  in  a passage  which 
is  a vivid  commentary  on  all  his  thinking  and  feeling 
during  his  Schiller  period.  The  individual,  he  says, 
can  accomplish  even  extraordinary  things  by  his  own 
well-directed  powers,  but  he  can  only  achieve  the 
unique,  the  unexpected,  when  all  liis  peculiar  gifts 
work  in  harmony  and  in  their  totality.  Owing  to 
existing  conditions,  which  compel  the  dispersion  of 
his  activities,  the  modern  man  is  incapable  of  such 
concentration  of  his  whole  nature.1  But  among 
the  ancient  Greeks  all  the  conditions  which  favoured 
totality  of  effort  actually  existed,  and  Goethe  enume- 
rates the  national  characteristics  which  made  this 
result  possible : confidence  in  themselves,  absorption 
in  the  present,  pure  reverence  of  the  Gods  as  their  own 
ancestors,  admiration  of  them  as  if  they  were  only 
works  of  art,  submission  to  an  almighty  fate,  desire 
for  posthumous  fame  in  place  of  individual  immor- 
tality. All  these  characteristics  combined  form  such 
an  inseparable  whole,  and  so  evidently  result  in  a 
condition  of  mind  in  accordance  with  nature’s  aims 
that  in  the  intensest  moments  of  enjoyment,  as  in 
the  deepest  of  self-sacrifice  and  even  of  extinction, 
we  are  conscious  of  indestructible  sanity.  In  this 
interpretation  of  the  mind  and  soul  of  the  Greeks  we 
may  think  that  Goethe  was  influenced  by  the  needs 
and  affinities  of  his  own  nature.  At  a later  day  he 
came  to  testify  that  the  Greek  ideal,  as  he  con- 
ceived it,  was  not  so  all-sufficient  as  at  this  period  it 
^seemed  to  him  to  be. 

" Goethe’s  work  on  Winckelmann  was  not  only  a 
confession  of  faith  ; it  was  also  a manifesto.  In  the 
closing  years  of  the  eighteenth  cent  ury,  there  appeared 
a group  of  youthful  writers  who  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years  developed  an  aesthetic  of  their  own  in 
direct  opposition  to  the  classicism  of  Goethe  and 

1 Schiller  insists  on  this  point  in  his  sesthetic  writings. 


ROMANTICISM 


517 


Schiller.  Their  opposition  was  based  on  various 
grounds.  The  ideals  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  seemed 
to  them  to  be  anti-national  and  incompatible  with 
modern  conditions,  to  put  Paganism  in  place  of 
Christianity,  and  pedantically  to  restrict  the  limits 
of  artistic  creation.  In  1798  the  leaders  of  the  group 
took  a decided  step  ; in  that  year  they  established 
a journal,  the  Athenceum,1  as  an  organ  in  which  they 
could  proclaim  their  views  to  the  world.  Now  they 
found  a name  for  their  creed  ; they  called  it  Roman- 
ticism, and  spoke  of  themselves  as  Romantics.  It 
was  against  this  creed  that  Goethe’s  essay  on  Winckel- 
mann  was  specially  directed,  and  it  evoked  a con- 
troversy in  the  literary  world  of  Germany  which  lasted 
beyond  the  date  of  Goethe’s  death. 

It  is  only  with  the  general  tendencies  of  Roman- 
ticism and  Goethe’s  relations  to  them  that  we  are 
here  concerned.  These  tendencies,  it  may  be  said, 
touched  the  whole  world  of  human  interests.  The 
Romantics  took  up  an  attitude  of  their  own  to 
nature,  to  art,  to  human  conduct,  to  social  responsi- 
bility and  to  religion.  In  all  these  interests  Goethe 
was  more  or  less  in  opposition  to  them,  and  the 
grounds  of  his  opposition  may  be  briefly  indicated. 

Goethe’s  attitude  to  nature  was  that  it  should 
be  scientifically  studied  with  the  direct  object  of 
discovering  its  laws  and  man’s  relation  to  it.  Only 
with  the  knowledge  gained  by  such  study  is  man 
able  to  understand  his  own  being  and  the  conditions 
under  which  his  life  has  to  be  lived.  When  Goethe 
treated  nature  poetically,  it  was  with  the  feeling 
inspired  in  him  by  the  reign  of  law — an  inspiration 
which,  in  his  conviction,  gives  sanity  to  the  mind  and 
a joyous  satisfaction  to  the  heart.  For  the  Romantics, 
generally  speaking,  nature  existed  only  to  supply 
food  for  the  irresponsible  play  of  fancy  and  imagina- 
tion. The  conception  of  the  universe  as  a cosmos 
was  alien  to  their  modes  of  thought ; what  they 

1 It  was  published  in  Berlin,  which  is  thus  to  be  regarded  as  the  cradle 
of  Romanticism  as  it  had  been  the  focus  of  the  Atufklarung. 


518  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

chiefly  sought  in  it  was  the  mystical  suggestion  of 
emotion  from  the  depths  of  sub-consciousness. 
Certain  aspects  and  certain  scenes  in  nature  as 
specially  stimulative  of  unearthly  fancies  mainly 
attracted  them.  Moonlight,  the  depths  of  forests, 
the  dark  places  of  the  earth,  were  the  environments 
which  they  sought  by  choice  for  the  play  of  their 
phantasies.  Their  world  was  one  outside  both  moral 
and  physical  law,  where  all  things  might  happen 
which  waking  dreams  might  suggest.  For  Goethe  - 
nature  was  a source  of  helpful  emotion,  for  the 
Romantics  it  spoke  neither  to  the  reason  nor  to  the 
soul. 

In  his  conception  of  poetry  and  its  function  in 
the  life  of  man,  Goethe  differed  no  less  from  the 
Romantics.  Poetry,  in  his  view,  should  deal  with 
worthy  subjects  and  should  be  inspired  by  reason 
as  well  as  by  imagination.  To  achieve  its  highest 
effects  it  must  be  restrained  by  law  ; there  must  be 
precision  of  detail  and  harmonj^  of  all  the  parts, 
and  a latent  logic  even  in  its  wildest  flights.  Though 
it  should  not  betray  direct  moral  ends,  it  is  to  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  effective  means  of  lifting 
men  to  a higher  humanity.  For  the  Romantics 
poetry  was  the  unlimited  play  of  the  imagination — 
its  end  to  produce  a succession  of  moods  in  which 
soul  and  sense  are  laid  to  sleep.  What  has  been  said 
of  the  poets  of  the  East,  is  applicable  to  the  most 
typical  Romantics  : “ the  poet  is  lost  in  his  song, 
the  man  in  allegory  and  abstraction ; they  were 
as  keen  of  bodily  sense  as  of  intellectual ; and  delight- 
ing in  a cloudy  composition  of  both,  in  which  they 
could  float  luxuriously  between  heaven  and  earth, 
and  this  world  and  the  next,  on  the  wings  of  a poetical 
expression,  that  might  serve  indifferently  for  either.”  1 

No  less  opposed  were  the  respective  attitudes  of 
Goethe  and  of  the  Romantics  to  life.  Even  in  the 
confusions  of  his  youth  Goethe  never  wholfy  lost 
sight  of  the  goal  which  he  felt  it  laid  upon  him  b}’ 

1 Edward  Fitzgerald,  Introduction  to  his  Omar  Khayyam. 


THEORY  OF  LIFE 


519 


nature  to  make  the  end  of  his  striving ; and  when  the 
years  brought  self-control,  his  undeviating  effort 
had  been  to  develop  all  the  gifts  that  had  been  given 
him  and  to  devote  them  to  what  he  considered  the 
highest  human  aims.  As  a State  official,  he  had 
laboured  with  all  his  might  for  the  welfare  of  the 
Duke’s  subjects,  and  when  he  became  convinced 
that,  not  practical  life,  but  art  and  literature  and 
science  were  his  true  spheres  of  action,  he  sought 
to  forward  their  interests  with  the  same  untiring 
assiduity.  So  it  was  with  him  to  the  end — unceasing 
endeavour,  ever-widening  views,  constant  renewal 
of  the  springs  of  life.  As  the  Romantics  viewed  it, 
on  the  other  hand,  life  was  a continuous  dream 
which  took  its  colour  from  their  respective  tempera- 
ments. Experience  was  a succession  of  moods, 
having  no  binding  unity  and  suggested  by  the 
moment’s  capricious  fancy.  Thus,  as  has  been  said 
of  them,  they  disintegrated  personality,  and  left  no 
place  in  their  scheme  of  life  for  such  conceptions  as 
duty  or  responsibility  which  hold  human  society 
together.  Lawlessness,  aimlessness,  self-indulgence, 
vague  sentiment  were  the  general  characteristics  of 
the  group.  Goethe  found  the  interest  and  the 
obligation  of  life  in  strenuous  action,  watchfully 
directed  to  a determinate  purpose ; while  the 
Romantics  passed  their  existence  in  vague  yearning 
after  ideals  which  had  no  relation  to  the  demands 
that  nature  makes  of  man. 

Opposed,  as  he  now  was,  to  the  general  tendencies 
of  the  Romantic  School,  Goethe  was,  in  truth,  in 
large  degree,  responsible  for  them.  He  and  Herder 
together  had  set  the  example  of  revolt  against 
existing  conventions  in  art  and  literature,  and  even 
in  the  ordering  of  their  lives.  By  taking  Christiane 
Vulpius  to  his  home,  Goethe  had  shown  in  his  own 
conduct  how  lightly  he  regarded  the  most  binding 
of  human  institutions,  and  contempt  of  the  marriage- 
tie  was  essentially  bound  up  with  the  Romantic  creed. 
For  the  most  characteristic  literary  productions 


520  THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

of  the  Romantics,  too,  leadings  could  be  found 
in  various  writings  of  Goethe  in  prose  and  verse.  In 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen  he  had  shown  his  contempt  for 
classical  forms  ; the  morbid  emotions  in  which  the 
school  revelled  were  already  present  in  Werther, 
their  subtle  pyschology  in  Tasso ; and  even  the 
famous  irony  on  which  they  plumed  themselves  is 
implicit  in  the  Roman  Elegies,  where  Goethe  plays 
with  his  themes  as,  according  to  their  conception  of 
irony,  the  poet  must  always  be  in  a position  to  do  if 
he  is  to  achieve  the  finest  effects.  Moreover,  indi- 
vidual works  of  Goethe  consciously  or  unconsciously 
became  models  for  their  express  imitation ; his 
Mdrchen  with  its  cryptic  symbolism  was  the  source 
of  their  fantastic  tales — their  most  characteristic 
products  ; and  Wilhelm  Meister,  with  its  detailed 
analysis  of  an  individual’s  development,  was  the 
pattern  which,  after  their  own  fashion,  they  followed 
in  their  more  elaborate  works  of  fiction.  Thus 
it  may  be  said  that  Goethe  was  in  a manner  the 
parent  of  the  school,  whose  general  tendencies  he 
regarded  as  mischievous  in  both  art  and  life. 

But  it  was  Goethe’s  characteristic  to  welcome 
every  helpful  suggestion  from  whatever  source  it 
came,  and  his  relation  to  the  Romantics,  compared 
with  that  of  Schiller,  is  an  interesting  illustration  of 
the  fact.  To  Schiller  they  were  repugnant  equally 
on  account  of  their  aesthetic  doctrine  and  of  their 
personal  characters,  and  he  eventually  broke  off 
intercourse  with  all  of  them.  Goethe,  on  the  other 
hand,  from  the  first  made  it  his  endeavour  to  establish 
sympathetic  relations  with  them — somewhat  to 
Schiller’s  dissatisfaction.  We  have  already  seen  him 
in  touch  with  some  of  the  men  who  were  to  be  prime 
representatives  of  the  movement.  Fichte,  one  of 
the  two  philosophers  from  whom  it  drew  its  inspira- 
tion, was  appointed  professor  at  Jena  with  Goethe’s 
approval,  though  for  official  reasons  he  was  eventually 
dismissed  from  his  post.1  With  Sclielling,  from 

1 Though  we  should  hardly  have  expected  it  from  his  general  attitude, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  521 

whom  even  more  than  from  Fichte  the  Romantics 
derived  their  conceptions  of  nature  and  art,  Goethe 
was  on  closer  terms ; he  freely  acknowledged  the 
fresh  impulses  he  had  received  from  Schelling’s 
philosophy  and  to  the  end  he  treasured  any  communi- 
cation that  came  from  him.  We  have  seen,  also, 
his  friendly  intercourse  with  A.  W.  Schlegel  who  was 
to  be  the  representative  critic  of  the  school  and  its 
most  conspicuous  figure.  Schlegel  had  begun  as  a 
classicist  and  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Goethe’s 
genius;  but  before  Schiller’s  death  in  1805' he  had 
gone  in  search  of  other  ideals,  and  a breach  gradually 
opened  between  them — a breach  which  became 
irreparable  when  through  Goethe’s  intermediacy 
Schlegel  became  tutor  to  the  sons  of  Mme.  de  Stael. 
The  name  of  another  youth,  who  was  to  be  the  cory- 
phaeus of  the  Romantics,  has  not  yet  been  mentioned. 
He  was  Friedrich  Schlegel,  the  younger  brother  of 
William,  and  like  him  primarily  a critic.  To  Fried- 
rich, who  began  his  literary  career  as  a champion  of 
the  antique,  Goethe  also  made  friendly  approaches. 
Against  Schiller’s  judgment,  and  even  against  his  own, 
he  put  on  the  Weimar  boards  one  of  his  plays,  Alarcos , 
generally  condemned  as  a worthless  imitation  of  the 
Greek.  But  their  friendly  intercourse  was  of  short 
duration.  Brilliant,  paradoxical,  irresponsible,  a 
kind  of  literary  gamin,  the  younger  Schlegel  was 
incapable  of  inspiring  respect  or  confidence.  Schiller 
detested  him  with  all  his  heart,  and  Goethe  soon 
had  reason  to  regard  him  with  similar  feelings.  In 
the  Athenceum,  of  which  he  was  the  founder,  and  in 
his  notorious  romance  Lucinde,  he  expounded  views 
on  art  and  life  which  became  the  creed  of  the  Roman- 
tics and  which  struck  at  the  root  of  all  that  Goethe, 
in  his  existing  phase,  deemed  of  value  to  the  world. 
He  disparaged  ancient  ideals,  put  Goethe’s  earlier 
work  above  his  later,  and  preached  a religion  com- 
pounded of  sensualism  and  medieevalism  that  became 

Goethe  gave  high  praise  to  the  famous  “ Discourses  ” of  Fichte  which  roused 
the  national  spirit  of  Germany. 


522 


THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 

the  profession  of  the  school  of  which  he  is  to  be 
regarded  as  the  real  founder.1  It  was  this  new 
religion  that  chiefly  excited  Goethe’s  wrath,  and  under 
the  contemptuous  designation  of  Nazarenism  he 
denounced  it  as  a monstrous  growth  of  human  folly. 
With  another  youth,  Ludwig  Tieck,  the  most  repre- 
sentative of  the  Romantic  group,  Goethe  maintained 
a friendly,  though  uneasy,  relation  to  the  end. 
Tieck  was  more  diplomatic  than  other  members  of 
the  brotherhood,  though,  when  he  gave  himself  out 
as  the  poetical  peer  of  Goethe,  the  patience  of  the 
great  man  was  tried. 2 Novaks,  the  most  interesting 
figure  among  the  Romantics,  who  looked  on  life  as 
a disease  of  the  spirit,  could  not  appeal  to  Goethe 
for  whom  life  was  a divine  gift.  Beginning  as  an 
adorer  of  Goethe,3  particularly  of  Wilhelm  Meister, 
Novalis  ended  by  regarding  him  as  the  falsest  of 
teachers  in  both  life  and  art.4  Of  special  interest  in 
connection  with  Goethe’s  relations  to  the  Romantics 
was  his  attachment  to  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
of  German  women — Caroline  Schlegel  or  ScheUing. 
With  gifts  equal  to  those  of  any  adherent  of  the 
school,  she  was  one  of  those  “ problematic  ” cha- 
racters who  always  attracted  him.  To  Schiller,  who 
dubbed  her  “ Dame  Lucifer,”  she  was  altogether 
hateful,5  but  for  Goethe  she  had  a personal  charm, 
which,  with  her  singular  insight  and  her  free  out- 
look on  life,  gave  her  a piquant  interest.  There  was, 
indeed,  a special  reason  for  Goethe’s  being  drawn  to 
her.  Caroline  was  the  most  keen-sighted  and  appreci- 
ative discerner  of  his  genius,  and  it  was  she  who 

1 He  called  Goethe’s  WincTcelmann  and  his  translation  of  Le  Nevcu  dc 

Rameau  “ sins  against  the  Holy  Ghost.” 

3  Tieck  declared  Manfred  to  be  a greater  work  than  Faust. 

3 He  called  Goethe  “ the  true  stadtholder  of  the  poetical  spirit  on 
earth.” 

4 Goethe  recognized  the  possibilities  of  the  genius  of  Novalis,  had  it 
been  sanely  directed. 

5 The  personal  likes  and  dislikes  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  are  interesting 
as  sidelights  on  their  respective  characters.  The  Duchess  Amalia  and 
Caroline  were  both  distasteful  to  Schiller,  whereas  Goethe  was  attracted  by 
them. 


INDIVIDUAL  ROMANTICS  523 

opened  the  eyes  of  the  earlier  Romantics  to  its  distinc- 
tive characteristics  and  prompted  the  admiration 
-with  which  they  at  first  regarded  him.  A service 
which  Goethe  performed  for  her  is  at  once  illustrative 
of  the  time  and  of  their  community  of  feeling.  In 
Jena  she  lived  in  uncongenial  relations  with  the 
elder  Schlegel  with  whom  she  had  formed  a temporary 
bond,  but  both  discovered  that  there  was  no  real 
tie  of  sympathy  between  them.  In  Schelling,  how- 
ever, she  found  what  she  missed  in  Schlegel,  and 
Schelling,  on  his  part,  was  responsive.  All  parties 
were  aware  of  the  situation,  and  through  Goethe’s 
intervention  Caroline  transferred  herself  to  the 
side  of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  drawn  by  the 
“ elective  affinities.” 

Such  were  Goethe’s  general  relations  to  the  lead- 
ing representatives  of  the  Romantic  movement. 
On  his  part,  there  was  a sincere  attempt  to  come  to 
an  understanding  with  them  and  to  discover  what 
was  of  permanent  value  in  their  ideas.  But  the 
publication  of  his  Winckelmann  revealed  the  impass- 
able gulf  that  parted  him  and  them.  They  scorn- 
fully rejected  his  principles  of  life  and  art,  while  their 
anarchic  disregard  of  form  and  their  pseudo-mediee- 
valism  filled  him  with  a loathing  to  which  he  gave 
vehement  expression  in  speech  and  -writing.  One 
of  the  many  activities  of  the  Romantics,  however, 
had  his  warmest  approval — their  incursions  into 
foreign  literatures.  For  German  culture  the  trans- 
lations executed  by  different  members  of  the  School 
were  of  high  and  permanent  value.  A.  W.  Schlegel’ s 
rendering  of  Shakespeare’s  plays  first  made  them 
really  known  in  Germany,  and  his  translations  of 
Dante,  Calderon,  Cervantes,  and  Camoens  did  a 
like  service  in  connection  with  the  literatures  of  other 
countries.  Tieck  translated  Don  Quixote,  and,  work 
highly  appreciated  by  Goethe,  Friedrich  Schlegel 
opened  up  a new  field  by  his  studies  in  Sanscrit 
literature.  For  Goethe  the  significance  of  these 
labours  was  that  they  forwarded  his  ideal  of  a 


524 


THE  SCHILLER  YEARS 


world-commonwealth  of  intellect  to  which  the  genius 
of  every  people  should  make  its  own  contribution  and 
thus  accelerate  man’s  progress  towards  higher  ideals. 

In  Goethe’s  long  controversy  with  the  Romantics 
it  may  be  said  that  the  victory,  on  the  whole,  lay  with 
them.  During  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century 
the  tendencies  of  German  literature  were  prevail- 
ingly romantic.  Posterity  has  confirmed  the  judg- 
ment of  the  Romantics  that  Goethe’s  work  of  home- 
sprung  inspiration  is  of  higher  value  than  his  work 
inspired  by  Greek  models.  It  has  to  be  said,  also, 
that  the  greater  productions  which  were  yet  to  come 
from  his  hand  were,  in  their  spirit  and  treatment, 
more  akin  to  romanticism  than  to  classicism.  Even 
his  attitude  to  Gothic  architecture  which,  as  the 
result  of  his  Italian  journey,  was  now  that  of  pure 
contempt,  came  to  be  comparatively  S3^mpathetic. 
And  in  the  end  he  who  had  gloried  in  the  name 
of  Pagan  and  spoke  of  Christianity  as  a distortion  of 
human  nature,  came  to  speak  with  reverence  of 
its  Founder  and  even  to  say  that,  if  He  were  to 
return  to  earth  He  would  find  him  His  only  true 
follower. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


LIFE  FROM  1805-1809 

THE  BATTLE  OF  JENA — GOETHE  AND  NAPOLEON 

After  the  death  of  Schiller  Goethe  had  still  twenty- 
seven  years  to  live,  and  they  were  to  be  years  as 
strenuous  as  the  years  that  had  preceded  them. 
In  mere  quantity,  indeed,  the  work  he  was  yet  to 
accomplish  exceeded  what  he  had  produced  in  the 
past.  In  literature  he  executed  works  on  a more 
ambitious  scale  than  any  he  had  yet  given  to  the 
world : to  name  only  the  more  important  that  came 
from  his  hand,  Die  W ahlverwandtschaften,  West-ost- 
licher  Divan,  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Wanderjahre,  and  the  Second  Part  of  Faust.  And 
these  works,  sufficient  in  themselves  to  represent  a 
vigorous  productivity,  form  but  a moiety  of  his 
output.  There  have  to  be  added  his  assiduous 
contributions  to  various  departments  of  science,  his 
criticisms  on  art  and  literature,  and — itself  a monu- 
ment of  labour — his  vast  correspondence  which  grew 
with  his  advancing  years. 

Yet,  though  there  was  no  slackening  of  effort 
during  this  last  span  of  Goethe’s  life,  there  were 
visible  signs  that  he  had  passed  his  climacteric. 
It  has  been  generally  recognized  that  with  the  death 
of  Schiller  his  life  entered  on  a new  phase.  If  his 
purely  intellectual  power  remained  undiminished, 
his  imaginative  force  was  no  longer  what  it  had 
been ; in  little  of  his  creative  work  are  henceforth 
found  the  freshness  and  power  of  the  best  work  of 
the  past.  His  previous  history  had  been  marked  by 
epochs,  each  characterized  by  a fresh  inspiration 

525 


526 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 

and  productive  of  new  manifestations  of  his  genius  ; 
but  he  experienced  no  further  inward  revolutions 
such  as  would  naturally  divide  these  last  years  into 
distinctive  periods.  To  the  end,  indeed,  his  mind 
remained  open  to  new  impressions,  and  his  survey  of 
the  intellectual  world  was  never  more  comprehensive 
than  towards  the  close  of  his  life ; but  his  opinions 
on  art  and  life  and  literature  underwent  no  change 
beyond  the  mellowing  that  naturally  comes  with 
advancing  age.  In  the  future  that  lay  before  him 
he  was  to  find  no  such  intellectual  companionship 
and  sympathy  as  he  had  found  in  Schiller,  and  his 
successive  books  have  more  or  less  the  character  of 
communings  with  himself.  Since  his  return  from 
Italy  he  had  not  found  a congenial  atmosphere  in 
Weimar,  and,  as  his  own  frequent  testimony  shows, 
the  place  did  not  grow  more  attractive  to  him : he 
was  always  glad,  he  says,  to  escape  from  its  hose 
Luft.  During  all  the  years  that  followed  the  death 
of  Schiller,  there  was  but  one  man  to  whom  he  stood 
in  relations  of  whole-hearted  sympathy — the  musician 
Zelter.  Of  all  the  men  with  whom  Goethe  came  in 
contact  throughout  his  long  life,  Zelter  was  the  one 
who  drew  from  him  the  most  spontaneous  expression 
of  his  heart  and  mind,  but  Zelter’ s home  was  in  Berlin 
and  it  was  only  by  correspondence  and  occasional 
meetings  that  they  could  keep  up  their  acquaintance. 
When  the  philologer  W.  Grimm  visited  Goethe  in 
1 809,  he  was  struck  by  the  air  of  solitude  that  seemed 
to  surround  him,  and  adds  that  this  sense  of  solitude 
was  apparent  in  his  books.  Yet,  if  there  is  a distinc- 
tive characteristic  of  the  last  phase  of  Goethe’s  life, 
it  is  his  extended  intercourse  with  the  world.  Bv 
correspondence  and  personal  contact  he  came  to  be 
interested  in  the  most  distinguished  workers  in 
science  and  art  and  literature,  and  his  repeated 
visits  to  the  fashionable  watering-place,  Carlsbad, 
brought  him  the  acquaintance  of  various  exalted 
personages,  a society  in  which  he  had  been  wont  to 
move  with  complacency  at  all  periods  of  his  life. 


A SOLITARY  FIGURE  527 

Distinguished  by  no  epochs  in  his  mental  history 
as  his  past  had  been,  the  twent}^-seven  years  that 
still  remained  to  Goethe  have  their  most  important 
landmarks  in  the  successive  books  which  he  gave  to 
the  world.  The  genesis  of  these  books  and  the 
conditions  under  which  they  were  produced  were, 
in  his  own  estimation,  the  main  concern  for  himself 
and  the  world,  so  far  as  any  significance  attached  to 
his  various  activities.  And  it  must  be  remembered 
that  all  Goethe’s  purely  literary  work  is  so  closely 
interwoven  with  his  own  personal  experience  that  in 
studying  it  we  are  following  his  mental  and  emotional 
history.  During  the  years  1805-9  he  continued 
his  labours  at  his  Farbenlehre,  superintended  a 
complete  edition  of  his  works,  published  the  First 
Part  of  Faust,  and  wrote  two  pieces,  Pandora  and 
Die  Wahlverwandtschaften,  both  of  which  were  influ- 
enced by  a passing  infatuation. 

With  Schiller’s  death  Goethe  had  told  Zelter 
that  half  of  his  own  being  had  gone,  and  in  the  same 
letter  he  had  added  that  he  ought  to  begin  a new  life, 
which,  however,  at  his  age  was  impossible.  Hence- 
forward all  that  remained  for  him,  he  continued, 
was  to  do  what  lay  before  him  without  looking  further 
afield.  The  first  task  that  seemed  to  lie  to  his  hand 
was  to  finish  Demetrius,  a drama  which  Schiller  had 
left  incomplete,  so  that  “ in  spite  of  death  ” he  might 
continue  their  converse  in  the  spirit.  But,  broken  in 
health  by  his  long  illness  previous  to  Schiller’s  death, 
he  was  unequal  to  the  task,  and  he  had  to  content 
himself  with  superintending  the  performance  of 
Schiller’s  Gloche,  with  musical  accompaniments,  in 
the  theatre  at  Lauchstadt. 1 

The  visits  of  friends  and  a succession  of  short 
journeys  in  the  months  that  followed  Schiller’s 
death  did  much  to  restore  his  health  and  spirits. 
At  the  end  of  May  came  Wolf  and  one  of  his  daughters, 

“ who  vied  with  the  spring  in  all  the  freshness  and 
attractiveness  of  her  youth.”  We  have  already 
1 August  10, 1805. 


528  FROM  1805  TO  1809 

seen  wliat  value  Goethe  attached  to  his  intercourse 
with  Wolf ; to  spend  a day  with  him,  he  said,  was 
to  gain  a whole  year’s  solid  instruction.  During  the 
fortnight  that  Wolf  now  spent  with  him,  however, 
essential  differences  between  their  natures  and  their 
general  outlook  became  unpleasantly  apparent,  and 
it  was  brought  home  tc  Goethe  that  Wolf  could  not 
be  to  him  what  Schiller  had  been.  With  Schiller 
differences  in  nature  and  in  points  of  view  had  only 
led  to  closer  union,  whereas  with  Wolf  such  differences 
resulted  in  dissonance. 1 In  their  views  of  antiquity, 
in  which  both  were  so  absorbingly  interested,  Wolf 
and  Goethe  were  unable  to  reach  a common  under- 
standing. It  was  Wolf’s  conviction  that  a true 
conception  of  the  development  of  classical  antiquity 
could  only  be  attained  by  the  study  of  its  language 
and  literature,  while  Goethe  held  that  an  equally 
satisfactory  result  could  be  obtained  from  a knowledge 
of  its  plastic  art.  Later  in  the  season  (June  23) 
came  another  visitor,  Fritz  Jacobi,  with  whom  he 
seems  to  have  enjoyed  more  genial  intercourse  than 
with  Wolf.  With  Jacobi  were  associated  some  of 
the  pleasantest  memories  of  Goethe’s  youth,  but 
since  those  days  of  intimate  confidences  they  had 
followed  such  divergent  paths  that  a certain  estrange- 
ment had  arisen  between  them.  On  the  occasion  of 
Goethe’s  visit  to  Jacobi  in  the  course  of  the  Rhine 
campaign  he  had  felt  that  their  intellectual  bond  was 
severed.  On  the  present  occasion,  however,  their 
intercourse  was  the  meeting  of  heart  with  heart  and 
not  of  mind  with  mind,  and  in  both  there  was  a 
return  of  the  old  cordiality — Jacobi  testifying  that 
Goethe  was  all  his  former  self. 

A return  visit  to  Wolf  at  Halle,  after  Jacobi’s 
departure,  brought  Goethe  into  contact  with  one  of 
the  celebrities  of  the  age — Dr.  Gall,  the  phrenologist. 
Gall  was  at  this  time  engaged  in  his  tour  through 
Germany,  Holland,  Sweden,  and  Switzerland,  with 
the  object  of  proclaiming  his  theories  to  the  world, 

1 Their  estrangement  increased  in  later  years. 


529 


ZELTER 

and  he  was  now  lecturing  in  Halle.  Long  devoted 
to  the  study  of  comparative  anatomy,  Goethe  was 
keenly  interested  in  Gall’s  lectures  and  attended 
them  regularly.1  He  could  not  follow  Gall  in  all 
his  views,  but  he  recognized  in  him  a fellow-worker 
along  the  same  lines  as  himself,  and  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  Gall’s  phrenological  conceptions  were 
“ the  crown  of  comparative  anatomy.”  2 

But  the  event  of  the  summer  of  1805  that  brought 
most  satisfaction  to  Goethe  was  an  unexpected  visit 
from  Zelter  while  he  was  at  Lauchstadt  preparing  for 
the  performance  of  Die  Glocke.  Zelter  had  already 
visited  him  more  than  once,  and  on  each  occasion 
his  visits  had  been  for  Goethe  an  unalloyed  pleasure. 
The  attraction  that  Goethe  felt  to  Zelter  and  the 
intimate  intercourse  to  which  it  led  are  among  the 
most  interesting  things  in  Goethe’s  biography.  To 
original  characters  Goethe  was  always  attracted, 
and  Zelter  was  nothing  if  not  original.  Bred  a stone- 
mason, he  had  developed  a talent  for  music,  and  by 
his  gifts  and  native  energy  had  risen  to  be  Director 
of  the  Singing  Academy  in  Berlin.  He  had  acquired 
a fund  of  miscellaneous  knowledge  and  had  all  the 
confidence  of  the  self-taught  in  the  value  of  his  own 
opinions,  which  he  freely  aired  in  his  talk  and  corre- 
spondence with  Goethe.  Everything  about  him  sug- 
gested unconventionality.  Small  in  stature,  he  went 
about  in  black  silk  breeches,  silk  stockings,  and 
shoes  with  enormous  silver  buckles,  and  he  had  a 
bustling  manner  which  broke  through  even  Goethe’s 
stately  reserve,  and  was,  indeed,  for  Goethe,  one  of  his 
attractions.  It  was  one  of  Goethe’s  sensitive  points 
that  he  could  not  abide  a person  with  spectacles, 
which,  he  maintained,  raised  an  insuperable 

1 When  Goethe  happened  to  be  ill,  Gall  delivered  his  lectures  at  his 
bedside. 

2 Gall  deduced  from  Goethe’s  craniological  formation  that  he  was  a 
born  orator  and  that  he  could  not  open  his  mouth  without  uttering  a 
trope.  It  is  recorded  that  Goethe  broke  down  in  a speech  he  attempted  to 
make  at  Ilmenau.  His  ordinary  conversation  abounded  with  figurative 
expressions. 

VOL.  II. 


K 


530 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 

barrier  between  mind  and  mind,  but  in  Zelter’s 
case,  he  told  Eckermann,  he  was  able  to  overlook 
them.  Such  was  the  man  to  whom  for  more  than 
thirty  years  Goethe  gave  his  affection  and  his  confi- 
dence as  he  gave  them  to  no  other. 

Through  all  these  years  he  was  attached  to  Zelter 
by  a double  bond.  He  had  a deep  admiration  for  his 
virility  and  sincerity — characteristics  which  Zelter 
eminently  showed  in  a painfully  chequered  life.  Of 
Zelter’s  musical  talent,  also,  he  had  a high  opinion — 
exaggerated,  as  it  now  seems,  though  it  was  shared  by 
many  of  their  most  eminent  contemporaries.  Zelter’s 
relation  to  Goethe  was  that  of  idolatrous  regard  alike 
for  his  character  and  for  his  genius.  The  corre- 
spondence of  the  two  men,  extending  over  thirty- 
two  years,  reveals  the  best  side  of  Goethe’s  character. 
Music  naturally  furnishes  a large  proportion  of  the 
subjects  it  discusses,  Zelter’s  setting  of  many  of 
Goethe’s  poems  being  a theme  of  special  interest  to 
both  correspondents  ; but  it  ranges  over  the  whole 
domain  of  the  arts,  and  in  Goethe’s  letters  we  have 
some  of  his  most  valuable  reflections  not  only  on 
art  but  on  life.  What,  however,  is  most  interesting 
in  the  correspondence  for  the  student  of  Goethe,  is 
that  in  it  we  have  the  most  spontaneous  expression 
of  his  heart  as  well  as  of  his  intellect.  He  overflows 
in  the  expression  of  his  affectionate  regard  for  Zelter, 
and  on  the  occasion  of  Zelter’s  frequent  family 
misfortunes  he  has  words  which  could  only  have 
been  prompted  by  the  sj-mpathy  of  perfect  friend- 
ship. For  Zelter,  Goethe’s  friendship  was  the  absorb- 
ing interest  of  his  life  ; it  was  his  saying  that  he  could 
not  survive  its  loss  ; and  the  event  confirmed  it, 
as  his  death  followed  that  of  Goethe  at  an  interval 
of  two  months. 

The  latter  part  of  1805  Goethe  spent  partly  in 
Weimar  and  partly  in  Jena,  apparently  in  restored 
health  and  spirits,  as  during  this  time  he  completed 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre  and  resumed  his  lectures 
on  scientific  subjects  to  the  ladies  of  Weimar,  a task 


THE  CRISIS  op  1806  531 

in  which  he  seems  to  have  found  a spemcJL  pleasure 
A new  study  in  which  he  simultaneously  engageu  i* 
worthy  of  note  in  view  of  the  general  bent  of  his 
interests.  We  have  seen  how  at  one  period  he  gave 
his  serious  attention  to  the  writings  of  Swedenborg  ; 
now  we  find  him  devoting  equally  serious  attention 
to  Plotinus  and  requesting  Wolf  to  send  him  the 
Greek  text,  as  he  found  the  translation  he  was  using 
inadequate. 

Goethe  opens  his  record  of  the  year  1806  with 
the  remark  that  the  world  was  then  aflame  in  all  its 
ends  and  corners.  With  that  year,  indeed,  the 
European  wars  which  had  been  the  result  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  of  the  ambition  of  Napoleon, 
entered  on  a new  phase.  Goethe  had  been  brought 
into  contact  with  actual  war  in  the  invasion  of  France 
by  the  Prussians  and  Austrians  in  1792  and  at  the 
siege  of  Mainz  in  the  following  year,  but  hitherto  the 
Duchy  of  Weimar  had  been  left  in  peace.  The 
reason  for  this  immunity  was  Carl  August’s  attach- 
ment to  Prussia  which,  since  1796,  had  followed  an 
ignominious  policy  of  neutrality  in  the  conflict 
between  France  and  Austria.  On  December  2,  1805, 
however,  Napoleon  had  overthrown  the  combined 
forces  of  Austria  and  Russia  at  Austerlitz — a victory, 
as  it  proved,  which  involved  the  end  of  the  Holy 
Roman  Empire.  Prussia  now  saw  her  own  interests 
threatened,  and  prepared  for  war  with  France. 
For  Goethe  this  was  an  ominous  outlook,  since  the 
Duke,  as  a commander  of  Prussian  cavalry,  would 
have  to  take  his  part  in  the  impending  struggle  and 
his  Duchy  would  lie  open  to  the  invasion  of  the 
enemy.  And,  in  point  of  fact,  from  the  opening  of 
1806  the  Duke’s  contingent  was  quartered  in  Weimar 
to  the  disquiet  of  Goethe,  who  speaks  indignantly 
of  the  arrogant  and  truculent  bearing  of  the  Prussian 
officers. 

Actual  declaration  of  war  did  not  come  till  August, 
and  during  the  first  half  of  the  year  Goethe  was 
able  to  lead  his  ordinary  life  in  comparative  peace. 


530  FROM  Jflgj,  To  1809 

n^l1T1lPT1  Ka1]-  vwr-*~-~- 

. c ms  usual  attention  to  the  theatre,  his  own 
jiigmont  and  his  youthful  play  Stella  being  among 
the  pieces  represented  ; he  continued  his  supervision 
of  the  edition  of  his  past  writings,  and  he  had  thoughts 
of  resuming  his  suspended  epic  on  Tell.  Of  special 
interest  as  reminding  us  of  the  new  developments  in 
German  literature  is  his  pleased  attention  to  two 
poetical  works  which  now  came  in  his  way.  He 
received  from  Achim  von  Arnim,1  a copy  of  Des 
Knaben  Wunderhorn,  a collection  of  old  German 
Lieder  which  was  one  of  the  most  notable  results  of 
the  Romantic  movement,  and  he  showed  his  apprecia- 
tion of  the  gift  in  a sympathetic  notice  of  the 
collection.  The  other  work  aroused  his  interest 
even  more  strongly.  It  was  the  Nibelungenlied, 
which  the  Romantics  hailed  as  a primitive  product 
of  the  national  genius.  Though  Goethe  did  not 
find  the  same  transcendent  merit  in  it  as  did  some  of 
his  more  enthusiastic  contemporaries,  he  recognized 
its  claim  to  serious  consideration  as  the  expression 
of  the  time  and  of  the  people  that  produced  it,  and 
he  gave  it  such  close  attention  during  successive  years 
that  the  conclusions  to  which  he  came  regarding  its 
origin  and  its  inspiration  are  those  accepted  by  its 
latest  commentators. 

Carl  August  described  Weimar  society  as  “ the 
most  tiresome  on  the  face  of  the  earth,”  and  Goethe, 
it  is  evident,  was  of  the  same  opinion.  Every  year, 
when  circumstances  permitted,  he  sought  to  escape 
from  it  for  periods  of  longer  or  shorter  duration. 
Hitherto  Jena  had  been  his  refuge  from  Weimar,  but 
it  was  in  another  place  that,  for  a succession  of  years, 
he  was  henceforward  to  seek  serenity  and  repose. 
In  1795  he  had  spent  some  time  in  Carlsbad  and 
derived  benefit  from  its  baths.  Now  he  was  attracted 
to  Carlsbad  for  a double  reason  ; it  was  out  of  the 
war  zone,  which  Jena  was  not,  and  its  baths  were 
specially  prescribed  for  the  ailment  from  which  he 
suffered  and  which  was  again  giving  him  trouble. 

1 One  of  its  editors  ; the  other  was  Clemens  Brentano. 


OF  1806  531 

After  spending  a few  weeks  in  deu_„^,|  nleasure 
proceeded  to  Carlsbad  at  the  end  of  June  in  Co.  ^ •* 
with  Riemer,  his  secretary.  Carlsbad,  then  as  now, 
was  a fashionable  resort  of  the  rich  and  the  great, 
and  Goethe  found  himself  one  of  about  six  hundred 
and  fifty  visitors.  He  complains  that  social  inter- 
course among  the  visitors  was  somewhat  stiff,  and 
that  there  was  a prevailing  anxiety  regarding  the 
impending  war ; but  in  Carlsbad  he  was,  at  least, 
relieved  from  the  spectacle  of  the  marching  and 
counter-marching  of  troops.  Settled  in  the  place, 
Goethe  pursued  the  regular  course  of  life  he  was  to  lead 
at  all  his  subsequent  visits.  On  this  occasion  he  was 
chiefly  interested  in  the  geology  of  the  neighbourhood, 
which  he  had  the  opportunity  of  studying  under  the 
guidance  of  a local  specialist — Joseph  Muller. 1 His 
stay  was  prolonged  till  the  beginning  of  August,  and 
so  pleasant  and  beneficial  had  been  his  experience  that 
henceforth  Carlsbad,  as  he  tells  us,  was  to  be  to  him 
what  Jena  had  hitherto  been.  He  was  to  find  in 
Carlsbad  what  was  a necessity  of  his  life — solitude 
varied  by  cheerful  society,  and,  always  a pleasing 
experience  for  Goethe,  the  opportunity  of  making 
acquaintance  with  exalted  persons. 

On  August  11  he  was  back  in  Weimar,  and  was 
hardly  settled  there  before  the  impending  war-cloud 
threatened  to  break,  and  that  in  his  own  near  neigh- 
bourhood. While  he  had  been  spending  his  time 
pleasantly  in  Carlsbad,  events  of  European  impor- 
tance had  been  happening,  events  which  were  to 
touch  himself  closely.  On  July  12  was  formed  the 
Confederation  of  the  Rhine  which  was  joined  by 
sixteen  German  princes  with  Napoleon  as  their  presi- 
dent, and  on  August  6 the  Emperor  Francis  of 
Austria  proclaimed  the  dissolution  of  the  Holy 
German  Empire — an  event,  Goethe  records,  which 
disturbed  him  less  than  a quarrel  between  his  servant 
and  his  coachman  on  the  driver’s  seat.  He  was 

1 Landscape-painting  was  a special  occupation  of  Goethe  during  his 
successive  visits  to  Carlsbad. 


534 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 

soon  made  to  realize  that  he  had  his  own  concern  in 
these  world  movements.  On  August  7 Prussia 
mobilized  her  troops,  and  Carl  August,  at  the  head  of 
his  company,  joined  them  at  Niederrossla,  their 
headquarters,  where  (September  24)  Goethe  had  a 
long  and  serious  interview  with  him.  It  was  now 
apparent  that  the  decisive  struggle  would  come 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Weimar,  many  of 
whose  inhabitants,  including  all  the  Ducal  family 
except  the  Duchess  Luise,  fled  from  the  town. 
Goethe  was  among  those  who  chose  to  remain. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  October  14  the  sound  of 
camion,  coming  from  the  direction  of  Jena,  was  heard 
by  the  people  of  Weimar.  The  cannonade  continued 
all  the  forenoon,  and  as  Goethe  and  his  household 
sat  at  dinner  about  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon, 
bullets  were  whistling  over  the  town.1  It  had 
been  a general  impression,  which  Goethe  did  not 
share,  that  the  Prussian  army  would  prove  more  than 
a match  for  the  French,  and,  when  some  Prussian 
soldiery  appeared,  it  was  at  first  believed  that  the 
French  had  been  defeated.  The  true  state  of  affairs 
was  soon  apparent ; the  Prussians  entered  the  town 
in  headlong  flight  closely  pursued  by  the  victorious 
French.  For  a time  numbers  of  Prussians  remained 
in  the  town,  but  the  French,  their  numbers  increasing, 
at  length  drove  them  out,  and  gave  themselves 
up  to  indiscriminate  plunder.  Sixteen  Alsatian 
Hussars  made  their  way  into  Goethe’s  house,  but 
behaved  with  some  restraint.  In  the  course  of  the 
evening  came  an  officer  of  Hussars,2  with  the 
announcement  that  Marshal  Augereau  had  fixed 
on  Goethe’s  house  as  his  headquarters.  Augereau 
did  not  appear  till  the  next  day,  and  Goethe  had  an 
uncomfortable  experience  during  the  night.  Two 

1 Goethe  rose  from  the  table  and  walked  in  his  garden  while  the 
cannonade  proceeded.  He  had  been  made  familiar  with  the  sound  of 
bullets  and  cannon-balls  during  his  Rhine  campaign. 

2 This  officer  was  Major  von  Tiirckheim,  a son  of  Goethe’s  former  love, 
Lili  Schonemann. 


MARRIAGE 


535 


tirailleurs  broke  into  the  house  and  insisted  on  his 
drinking  with  them.  Subsequently  they  forced  their 
way  into  his  bedroom,  and  even  threatened  his  life, 
when  Christiane,  who  had  behaved  with  great 
courage  throughout  all  the  confusion,  with  some 
assistance  rescued  him  from  their  violence.  In  the 
morning  Marshal  Ney  appeared  ; and,  after  spending 
a few  hours  in  the  house,  left  it  under  the  change  of 
a guard.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  Napoleon 
himself  came  to  Weimar,  but  did  not  issue  orders 
for  the  staying  of  the  pillage  till  the  16th.  Secure 
through  the  presence  of  Augereau,  who  was  under  his 
roof  from  the  15th  to  the  17th,  Goethe  had  reason 
to  congratulate  himself  on  the  comparatively  small 
loss  he  had  sustained.  Its  total  amount  (among  the 
items  of  which  were  twelve  casks  of  wine  drunk  by 
the  French  soldiery)  he  estimated  at  2000  dollars, 
half  of  his  annual  salary.  His  papers,  which  had 
been  his  first  care,  were  untouched. 1 

The  eventful  night  had  an  interesting  sequel. 
During  its  horrors  “ an  old  purpose  ” took  definite 
shape  in  Goethe’s  mind  ; he  resolved  to  put  his 
relations  to  Christiane  on  a legal  footing.  Various 
reasons  must  have  prompted  him  to  the  step.  His 
son  was  growing  up  to  manhood,  and  it  was  desirable 
that  he  should  be  legitimized.  It  was  a step,  more- 
over, which  Goethe  must  have  felt  that  he  owed  to 
the  woman  who  had  given  every  proof  of  her  devoted 
affection  to  him.  Her  past  relation  to  him  had 
placed  her  in  a position  that  subj  ected  her  to  needless 
pain  ; as  his  mistress,  she  had  been  made  sport  of 
by  the  students  of  Jena,  and  during  that  “ dreadful 
night  ” the  French  soldiery,  recognizing  her  position, 
had  treated  her  with  insult.  On  October  17  Goethe 
requested  the  Court  Preacher  Gunther  to  perform 
the  ceremony  of  marriage,  which  was  duly  celebrated 
on  the  19th  in  the  sacristy  of  the  Court  Church  in 
the  presence  of  his  son  August  and  his  secretary 

1 It  should  be  said  that  the  narratives  of  the  events  of  the  day  and 
night  differ  considerably  in  details. 


536  FROM  1805  TO  1809 

Riemer.1  It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that,  even 
as  the  acknowledged  wife  of  Goethe,  Christiane 
would  be  generally  received  on  an  equal  footing  by 
the  ladies  of  Weimar.  Her  position,  however, 
was  in  some  degree  improved,  and  in  one  house, 
at  least,  she  was  received  and  treated  with  all  respect. 
In  the  spring  of  the  year  the  mother  of  the  philosopher 
Schopenhauer  had  settled  in  Weimar,  and  as  she 
was  a woman  of  notable  force  of  mind  and  character, 
her  house  soon  became  a centre  of  its  societ}7 . Goethe 
was  greatly  attracted  by  her,  and  her  parties  became 
almost  the  only  ones  at  which  he  appeared.  It  was 
at  Madame  Schopenhauer’s  that  Goethe  first  publicly 
introduced  Christiane  as  his  wife,  and  thenceforward 
she  was  a frequent  visitor  at  the  house.  Only  on  one 
or  two  occasions  did  she  appear  at  Court,  and  she 
attained  to  no  more  than  a bowing  acquaintance  with 
the  Weimar  ladies  in  general,  Frau  von  Stein  among 
them. 

Goethe  regarded  the  disintegration  of  Germany 
with  indifference,  but  he  was  profoundly  concerned 
for  the  well-being  of  the  Duchy  of  Saxe- Weimar  and 
its  ruler.  The  condition  of  the  Duchy  had  for  some 
time  been  such  as  to  make  him  seriously  anxious 
for  its  future.  By  attaching  himself  to  Prussia,  an 
association  against  which  Goethe,  during  his  first 
years  in  Weimar,  had  persistently  warned  him,  the 
Duke  had  incurred  the  wrath  of  Napoleon,  who  before 
the  battle  of  Jena  had  surrounded  him  with  spies. 
The  probabilities  were  that,  as  the  result  of  the  battle, 
he  would  be  deprived  of  his  Dukedom.  By  the 
heroic  conduct  of  his  wife,  the  high-minded  Luise, 
he  was  offered  conditions  on  which  he  would  be 
allowed  to  retain  it.  During  his  brief  stay  in  Weimar 
Napoleon  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  her  cha- 
racter and  heroic  bearing,  and  at  her  intercession 
he  consented  to  the  Duke’s  retaining  his  dominions 

1 The  marriage  rings  were  dated  October  14 — possibly  to  mark  the  fact 
that  on  that  date  Goethe  resolved  on  the  step.  He  remarked  at  this  time 
that  he  had  always  regarded  Christiane  as  his  wife. 


THE  FRENCH  IN  WEIMAR  537 

if,  within  twenty-four  hours,  he  left  the  Prussian 
army,  withdrew  his  contingent,  and  returned  to 
Weimar.  The  Duke  did  not  immediately  return  to 
Weimar,  but  eventually  (December  24),  by  formally 
joining  the  Confederation  of  the  Rhine,  he  satisfied 
Napoleon’s  conditions. 

In  connection  with  the  treatment  of  the  Duke  by 
the  French  we  have  the  record  of  an  outburst  on  the 
part  of  Goethe  which,  if  correctly  reported,  shows 
at  once  his  devotion  to  the  Duke  and  his  own  high- 
strung  nature.  It  is  J.  D.  Falk,  Councillor  of  Lega- 
tion, who  reports  it.1  The  Duke’s  conduct,  Falk 
ventured  to  tell  Goethe,  had  been,  at  least,  highly 
imprudent.  This,  we  know,  was  Goethe’s  own  real 
opinion,  but  he  vehemently  denounced  the  conduct 
of  the  French  and  defended  that  of  the  Duke,2  and 
conjured  up  a piteous  vision  of  the  Duke  driven  from 
his  dominions  and,  with  himself  as  his  only  attendant, 
wandering  in  exile  through  the  country.  Then, 
tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  he  burst  forth  : 
“ I will  sing  for  bread ; I will  turn  strolling  ballad- 
singer  and  put  our  misfortunes  into  verses;  I will 
wander  into  every  village  and  into  every  school, 
wherever  the  name  of  Goethe  is  known ; I will  sing 
the  dishonour  of  Germany,  and  the  children  shall 
learn  the  song  of  our  shame  till  they  are  men  ! ” 3 

Goethe  was  spared  the  fate  of  Lucas  Kranach  4 
to  whom  in  his  melancholy  vision  he  compared  him- 
self ; but  he  was  able  to  perform  services  for  his 
master  of  which  he  alone  was  capable.  As  the  result 
of  the  battle  of  Jena,  the  daily  life  of  that  town  and 
of  Weimar  was  in  utter  confusion,  aggravated  by 
the  conflicting  political  sympathies  of  their  citizens. 
Uncertainty  regarding  the  future  was  also  a disquiet- 
ing consideration,  for,  as  Goethe  told  Wolf,  it  was  at 

1 Falk’s  reports  of  his  conversations  with  Goethe  have  always  to  be  taken 
with  certain  reserves. 

2 Goethe  blamed  the  Prussians  for  Napoleon’s  treatment  of  the  Duke. 

3 This  translation  is  from  Mrs.  Austin’s  Characteristics  of  Goethe. 

4 Lucas  Kranach  distinguished  himself  by  his  devotion  to  his  master 
Frederick  the  Wise,  Elector  of  Saxony,  in  his  misfortunes. 


538 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 

least  doubtful  wbat  his  own  position  would  be  in 
the  course  of  half  a year.  Moreover,  for  some  months 
after  the  battle,  French  troops  were  quartered  in 
Weimar,  and  their  maintenance  was  a heavy  burden. 
Under  these  conditions  Goethe  displayed  the  same 
energy  and  capacity  as  an  administrator  as  he  had 
shown  in  earlier  years  as  a Minister  of  State.  It 
was  now  his  task  to  assist  such  of  the  citizens  of 
Weimar  and  Jena  as  had  suffered  most  in  the  late 
calamity,  and  he  freely  gave  of  his  own  for  their 
relief.1  Further,  he  set  himself  to  restore  the 
ordinary  life  in  both  towns,  and  this  could  be  best 
effected  by  reopening  their  public  institutions. 
Fortunately  he  found  a willing  helper  in  the  Com- 
mandant of  the  French  soldiery  quartered  in  Weimar, 
a General  Dentzner  who  had  formerly  been  a student 
at  Jena  and  was  an  admirer  of  Goethe’s  genius. 
As  the  result  of  his  efforts,  lectures  were  recommenced 
in  the  University  of  Jena  on  November  3 ; on  the 
5th  the  Institute  of  Drawing  in  Weimar  was  re- 
opened, and  in  December  its  theatre.  Be  it  added 
that,  except  during  the  few  days  when  repose  was 
impossible,  he  had  throughout  the  troubled  year 
been  assiduously  pursuing  his  own  studies.  In 
April  he  finished  the  First  Part  of  Faust,  in  December 
the  didactic  part  of  the  Farbenlehre,  and  he  was 
at  the  same  time  engaged  on  the  edition  of  his  collec- 
tive works. 

By  the  beginning  of  1807  Weimar  had  returned 
to  its  ordinary  routine  of  business  and  pleasure,  and 
throughout  the  year  there  was  peace  in  Germany, 
the  battle  of  Jena  having  temporarily  brought  her 
to  Napoleon’s  feet.2  The  external  events  of  Goethe’s 
life  during  the  year  may  be  briefly  told.  Till  the 
middle  of  May  he  was  in  Weimar,  much  occupied 
with  the  theatre,  the  most  notable  pieces  produced 
being  his  own  Tasso,  and  Calderon’s  The  Steadfast 

1 In  a note  addressed  to  Meyer  (Oct.  15)  Goethe  inquires  if  he  can  send 
him  a coat,  vest,  shirt  or  other  articles  of  clothing,  or  food  of  any  kind. 

2 Prussia  made  peace  with  France  in  July. 


Goethe  : Ocxobek,  1807. 


[Facing  p.  53S. 


DEATH  OF  DUCHESS  AMALIA  539 

Prince.  On  April  10  Goethe  sustained  a real  loss 
by  the  death  of  the  Duchess  Amalia.  She  had 
been  his  staunch  friend  since  his  first  settlement  in 
Weimar ; she  had  stood  by  him  in  the  days  when 
Weimar  and  the  outside  world  were  most  hostile 
to  him ; and  she  had  been  his  ardent  supporter  in 
all  his  labours  for  the  material  and  intellectual 
well-being  of  the  Duchy. 1 A few  days  after  her 
death,  a violent  recurrence  of  his  old  malady  necessi- 
tated another  soj  ourn  in  Carlsbad,  where,  after  about 
a week  spent  in  Jena,  he  settled  from  the  end  of  May 
till  the  beginning  of  September.  Though  he  saw 
something  of  the  society  of  the  place,  the  state  of 
his  health  enforced  a solitude  assiduousty  devoted 
to  geologizing,  painting,  and  the  writing  of  tales 
subsequently  embodied  in  Wilhelm  Meisters  Wander- 
jahre.  Among  the  persons  he  met  at  Carlsbad, 
Goethe  attached  special  importance  to  Carl  Fried- 
rich, Graf  von  Reinhard.  Reinhard  was  a cultivated 
man  of  the  world  and  had  had  a chequered  history. 
He  was  now  French  resident  at  Jassy,  though  sus- 
pected and  disliked  by  Napoleon,  who,  however, 
could  not  dispense  with  his  services.  The  friendship 
which  Goethe  formed  with  him  was  permanent,  and 
at  a later  day  Reinhard  was  to  do  him  an  important 
service.  A strong  tie  between  them  was  Reinhard’ s 
acceptance  of  Goethe’s  theory  of  fight — always  a 
sure  passport  to  his  confidence.  On  September  11, 
he  was  back  in  Weimar,  and  he  closed  the  year 
(November — December  2)  in  Jena,  where,  as  we  shall 
see,  he  had  an  enlivening  experience. 

These  were  the  external  events  of  Goethe’s  fife 
during  1807,  but  the  year  is  marked  by  a further 
growth  in  sympathies  and  interests  which  had  begun 
to  appear  before  Schiller’s  death.  We  have  mentioned 
his  interest  in  the  W underhorn  and  the  Nibelungenlied, 
and  his  production  on  the  Weimar  stage  of  The 

1 Goethe  wrote  a short  account  of  her  life  which  was  read  in  all  the 
churches  of  the  duchy. 

2 Till  December  18. 


540 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 

Steadfast  Prince  of  Calderon — the  poet  of  the 
Romantics’  idolatry.  But  a personal  experience 
and  certain  accidental  circumstances  occasioned  his 
making  a further  concession  to  Romanticism.  During 
his  visits  to  Jena  there  was  no  house  where  he  had 
spent  happier  hours  than  that  of  the  Fromman  famity, 
whose  head  was  a bookseller  and  a man  of  cultivated 
tastes.  Fromman,  his  wife,  and  the  distinguished 
guests  who  frequented  the  house  made  it  an  attractive 
centre  for  discussions  on  literature  and  art.  But 
during  the  visit  in  the  closing  months  of  1807  1 he 
found  a new  object  of  attraction  under  the  familiar 
roof.  Some  years  earlier  the  Frommans  had  adopted 
a girl,  Wilhelmina  Herzlieb  whose  winning  appear- 
ance and  ways  had  made  her  a special  favourite  of 
Goethe. 2 He  had  always  treated  her  as  a child,  but 
since  he  had  last  seen  her,  she  had  developed  into 
womanhood,  and  as  he  now  saw  her,  she  inspired 
him  with  new  feelings.  He  could  no  longer  meet 
her  without  embarrassment,  and  he  studiously 
curtailed  his  visits  to  the  house.  The  arrival  of 
another  person  gave  a fresh  turn  to  the  interests  of 
the  circle  in  Jena,  with  which  Goethe  was  immedi- 
ately connected.  This  was  Zacharias  Werner,  the 
most  bizarre  of  all  the  young  Romantics,  but  a 
professed  worshipper  of  Goethe’s  genius.  A play  of 
his,  Martin  Lutlier,  recently  produced  in  Berlin,  had 
achieved  an  extraordinary  success,  and  Goethe 
was  prepared  to  be  interested  in  him.  Though  his 
play  and  other  things  which  Werner  had  written 
showed  most  of  the  weaknesses  which  Goethe  deplored 
in  the  new  school,  he  recognized  Werner’s  poetic 
gifts  and  was  attracted  to  the  man.  There  were 
interesting  conversations  between  them  on  art  and 
literature  and  religion,  and  Werner  read  aloud  a 
series  of  sonnets  which  Goethe  thought  the  finest 
hitherto  produced  in  German  literature.  The  sonnet- 
form  was  a special  favourite  with  the  Romantics, 

1 It  lasted  from  November  11  to  December  18. 

3 She  was  now  eighteen,  and  he  had  known  her  since  she  was  ten. 


MINNA  HERZLIEB  541 

but  Goethe  had  disapproved  of  it  as  unsuited  to  the 
German  language.  Apparently  carried  away  by 
Werner’s  enthusiasm  and  by  their  admiration  for 
his  success,  Goethe,  Riemer,  and  Knebel  engaged  in 
a competition  in  sonnet-wrriting,  Minna  Herzlieb 
being  the  inspiring  theme.  Of  the  seventeen  sonnets 
which  Goethe  wrote,  only  a few  directly  refer  to 
Minna,  and  in  the  circumstances  in  which  they  were 
written,  they  could  hardly  give  expression  to  the 
passion  with  which  she  had  inspired  him. 1 That  his 
feelings  towards  her  amounted  to  a passion,  he 
subsequently  admitted.  He  had  loved  Minchen, 
he  told  Christiane,  “ more  than  was  reasonable.”  2 
And  there  is  other  evidence  that  the  effort  to  give 
her  up  cost  him  a severe  inward  struggle  ; he  found 
it  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  his  usual  method  of 
ridding  his  heart  of  “ perilous  stuff.”  Two  works 
produced  during  this  period,  Pandora  and  Die 
Wahlverwandtschaften,  he  tells  us,  “ express  the 
bitter  feeling  of  deprivation  ” he  experienced  in  the 
renunciation  of  Minna  Herzlieb. 

In  the  same  year,  1807,  Goethe’s  path  was  crossed 
by  another  woman  whose  name,  though  for  other 
reasons,  is  as  indissolubly  associated  with  his  as  is 
that  of  Minna  Herzlieb.  In  Bettina  Brentano 
Romanticism  was  embodied  in  feminine  form.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  Maximiliane  von  la  Roche  who 
had  been  one  of  Goethe’s  own  early  loves,  and  who 
had  made  an  uncongenial  marriage  with  Peter 
Brentano,  a dealer  in  herrings,  oil  and  cheese,  and  a 
widower  with  five  children.  The  saying  went  in 
Frankfort,  where  the  family  was  settled,  that  where 
madness  ended  in  other  people,  it  only  began  with 
the  Brentanos,  and  in  Bettina  the  family  traits  were 
fully  developed.  When  we  come  upon  her,  she  was 
in  her  twenty-second  year,  but  she  was  one  of  those 

1 In  one  of  his  sonnets  Goethe  jestingly  refers  to  his  using  that  verse 
form  of  which  he  had  previously  disapproved. 

2 He  made  a similar  admission  to  Zelter.  He  never  declared  his  feelings 
to  her,  and  she  never  appears  to  have  suspected  them. 


542 


FROM  1805  T6  1809 

persons  who,  with  eminent  gifts,  remain  children  to 
the  end.  From  reading  Goethe’s  books  she  had 
become  convinced  that  he  personified  all  that  her 
mind  and  heart  conceived  of  what  wras  highest  and 
best  in  this  world.  Her  imagination  was  still  further 
inflamed  by  intercourse  with  Goethe’s  mother, 
whose  one  delight  in  life  was  to  talk  and  hear  talk 
of  her  son,  and  she  resolved  to  pay  her  devotions 
in  person  to  the  god  of  her  idolatry.  If  we  can  take 
as  a statement  of  fact  the  account  which  she  gave  to 
Goethe’s  mother  of  the  first  interview  with  her 
son,  it  gives  us  the  key  at  which  her  emotions 
were  pitched.  He  placed  her  on  a sofa,  but  after 
some  talk  she  said  that  she  could  not  remain  sitting 
there.  “ Make  yourself  comfortable,”  said  the  great 
man,  whereupon  she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck, 
and,  tired  with  the  journey,  fell  asleep  in  that  position. 
“ To  reassure  ourselves,”  is  the  comment  of  a French 
critic,”  wehave  to  remember  that  we  are  in  Germany.”1 
The  relations  thus  effusively  begun  were,  on  Goethe’s 
part,  those  of  amused  interest  at  her  irrepressible 
nature  and  admiration  of  gifts  which  have  entitled 
her  to  be  called  the  most  spirituelle  of  all  German 
women.  Four  years  later  Bettina  married  the 
Romantic  poet,  Ludwig  Achim  von  Arnim,  and  on 
the  occasion  of  another  visit  to  Weimar,  in  company 
with  her  husband,  she  gave  lasting  offence  to  Goethe 
by  publicly  insulting  Christiane.2  Bettina  was  not 
one  of  the  women  who  deeply  touched  his  feeling 
and  inspired  his  work,  but  she  has  her  own  place  in 
his  life.  Through  her  he  was  brought  more  closely 
into  contact  with  the  Romantic  movement,  and  to 
her  he  was  indebted  for  information  regarding  his 
youthful  days  which  she  learned  from  his  mother 
and  which  he  embodied  in  his  Autobiography. 
Moreover,  three  years  after  his  death  she  published 
a work  3 professing  to  consist  of  their  correspondence, 

1 Sainte-Beuve,  Causeries  du  Lundi,  Vol.  II.  Goethe  et  Bettina. 

2 She  revisited  Weimar  in  1826,  when  Goethe  regardedher  more  critically. 

3 Goethes  Briefwechsel  mil  einem  Kind. 


HIS  MOTHERS  DEATH  543 

which  form  a permanent  part  of  the  Goethe  literature. 
She  irresponsibly  adapted  both  Goethe’s  letters  and 
her  own,  and  even  appropriated  what  Goethe  had 
written  to  others.1  But,  read  with  indulgence,  the 
book,  with  the  amount  of  truth  about  Goethe  it 
really  contains,  is  a charming  memorial  of  a woman’s 
hero-worship. 

Two  events  made  the  year  1808  a memorable  one 
in  Goethe’s  life — the  death  of  his  mother,  and  his 
interviews  with  Napoleon.  Like  the  year  preceding, 
it  was  spent  partly  in  Weimar  and  partly  in  Carlsbad. 
From  January  till  the  middle  of  May  the  poet  was 
in  Weimar— a household  event  of  that  period  being 
the  departure  of  his  son  August  for  the  University 
of  Heidelberg,  where  he  was  to  spend  two  years  in 
the  study  of  jurisprudence.  On  May  15  he  was 
in  Carlsbad  where,  with  the  exception  of  a few 
brief  excursions,  he  passed  the  next  four  months 
in  fruitful  labours.  The  new  friendships  he  formed 
there  were  part  of  the  attraction  to  Carlsbad,  and  in 
connection  with  this  visit  he  specially  notes  his 
intercourse  with  the  family  of  Ziegesar,  the  head  of 
which  was  Chancellor  of  the  Duchy  of  Saxe-Coburg- 
Gotha.  The  youngest  daughter,  Sylvie,  whom  he 
had  known  since  her  childhood,  was  the  member  of  the 
family  that  specially  attracted  him,  and  she  is  among 
the  number  of  maidens  who  inspired  him  to  song, 
though  she  was  never  one  of  the  obj  ects  of  his  passion. 

On  September  17  he  was  again  in  Weimar,  and 
a few  days  later  he  received  news  of  the  death  of  his 
mother.  Her  end  had  been  in  keeping  with  her 
life.  Invincible  cheerfulness,  the  result  partly  of 
temperament  and  partly  of  her  unwavering  trust  in 
Providence,  had  made  her  life  a pleasant  journey, 
joy-giving  to  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact. 
Her  gay  humour  was  illustrated  in  the  directions 
she  laid  down  for  her  funeral ; she  gave  strict  orders 
that  there  should  not  be  too  many  raisins  in  the  burial 
cake  as  she  could  not  abide  them  herself.  Knowing 

1 Specially  passages  from  his  sonnets  to  Minna  Herzlieb. 


544 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 


her  son’s  shrinking  from  all  forms  of  pain,  a character- 
istic he  had  inherited  from  her,  she  forbade  the 
news  of  her  illness  to  be  communicated  to  him.  He 
had  not  seen  her  for  eleven  years,  and  as  there  had 
been  long  intervals  between  their  previous  meetings, 
he  has  been  charged,  as  already  mentioned,  with  grave 
filial  neglect.  As  was  previously  noted,  Dr.  Johnson 
is  open  to  precisely  the  same  charge,  and  it  has  been 
pointed  out  that  Klopstock,  Lessing,  and  Wieland, 
were  similarly  remiss  in  their  visits  to  their  nearest 
relatives.  Goethe’s  mother,  at  least,  never  dropped 
a word  of  reproach  against  him  for  any  neglect,1 
and  from  what  we  can  gather  from  their  corre- 
spondenceand  from  the  reports  of  others  their  relations 
were  all  that  could  be  desired  between  mother  and 
son.  To  the  end  she  followed  his  career  with  pride 
and  loving  admiration,  and  the  thought  of  him  was 
the  sustaining  joy  of  her  life.  Goethe,  on  his  part, 
fully  realized  all  that  he  owed  to  his  mother  ; he 
recognized  that  it  was  from  her  that  he  had  derived 
the  best  portion  of  his  gifts  ; and  in  his  Autobio- 
graphy he  has  put  on  record  how  it  was  owing  to  her 
genial  and  communicative  nature  that  any  sweet- 
ness and  charm  entered  into  the  memories  of  his 
childhood.  The  most  equitable  of  critics,  Sainte- 
Beuve,  who  speaks  on  such  a point  with  special 
authority,  as  he  himself  was  an  exemplary'  son,  thus 
pronounces  j udgment  on  the  relations  between  Goethe 
and  his  mother.  “ Before  denying  any  quality  to 
Goethe  it  is  necessary  to  look  at  him  twice,  for  the 
first  impression  of  him  is  that  of  a certain  coldness,  but 
this  coldness  often  gives  place  to  the  primary'  persist- 
ing quality.  A mother  does  not  continue  to  the 
last  hour  to  love  and  revere  a son  as  she  did,  if  he 
has  done  her  a grave  wrong.  Goethe’s  mother 
found  her  son  guilty  of  no  such  wrong,  and  it  is  not 
for  us  to  be  more  severe  than  she  was.” 

During  the  September  in  which  Goethe  lost  his 

1 She  wrote  these  words  to  her  grandson  August : “ Dein  lieber  Vater 
hat  mir  nie  Kummer  oder  Verdruss  verursacht.” 


CONGRESS  AT  ERFURT  545 

mother,  an  event  was  impending  which  might  involve 
the  fate  of  the  Duchy  of  Saxe-Weimar,  and  therefore 
his  own  future  position.  Napoleon,  now  “ King  of 
Kings,”  had  summoned  a congress  of  potentates  to 
meet  at  Erfurt  which,  since  the  battle  of  Jena,  the 
French  had  retained  as  a stronghold  in  the  heart  of 
Germany.  The  Congress  was  to  meet  in  the  begin- 
ning of  October,  and  Napoleon’s  object  in  summoning 
it  was  to  settle  the  relations  of  the  different  European 
States.  Carl  August,  we  have  seen,  had  been  com- 
pelled, as  the  result  of  Prussia’s  defeat  at  Jena,  to 
join  the  Confederation  of  the  Rhine.  But  he  was 
suspected,  and  on  good  grounds,  of  acting  in  hostility 
to  its  interests.  How  he  would  fare  at  Napoleon’s 
hands,  therefore,  was  matter  of  grave  anxiety  to 
himself  and  his  minister  Goethe. 

We  are  here  concerned  only  with  Goethe’s  experi- 
ences in  connection  with  the  Congress.  On 
September  29  he  was  summoned  by  the  Duke  to 
Erfurt,  where  he  found  himself  in  a scene  which  may 
have  recaUed  the  coronation  of  the  Emperor  which 
he  had  witnessed  at  Frankfort  in  his  childhood. 
Goethe  was  always  interested  in  the  great  ones  of  the 
earth,  not  certainly  from  a vulgar  curiosity,  but  out 
of  his  impelling  instinct  to  know  men  in  all  their 
conditions  ; and  in  Erfurt  this  interest  was  gratified 
to  the  fuH,  for  besides  the  dominating  divinity 
Napoleon,  and  Alexander,  Czar  of  Russia,  there  were 
present  at  the  Congress  over  forty  kings,  princes 
and  dukes.  An  intenser  satisfaction  to  him  than  the 
sight  of  these  exalted  persons,  however,  was  another 
spectacle.  Napoleon  had  brought  in  his  train  the 
whole  troupe  of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  with  Talma  at 
their  head,  and  Goethe  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
them  play  Racine’s  Andromaque.1  For  Goethe, 
who  had  given  his  heart  and  mind  for  so  many 
years  to  the  improvement  of  the  Weimar  stage,  the 
sight  of  Talma  and  his  company  playing  in  such 

1 This  was  on  the  evening  of  September  29 ; the  following  evening 
Britannicus  was  played. 

VOL.  II.  Ti 


546 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 


extraordinary  circumstances  was  one  of  the  crowning 
experiences  of  his  life,  nor  did  it  lessen  his  satis- 
faction that  he  had  the  impression  that  his  own 
Weimar  company  compared  not  unfavourably  with 
the  most  famous  company  in  Europe. 

But  the  culminating  incident  of  his  days  in  Erfurt 
came  on  October  2 — -his  interview  with  Napoleon, 
which  he  himself  describes  as  one  of  the  most  highly 
gratifying  experiences  that  could  have  happened  to 
him  in  life.  We  have  a brief  account  of  the  inter- 
view from  his  own  hand.  On  entering  Napoleon’s 
presence  he  found  him  seated  at  breakfast,  with 
Talleyrand,  Daru,  Savary  and  Berthier  in  attend- 
ance. “ Vous  etes  un  homme,”  was  Napoleon’s 
first  remark  after  a fixed  look  at  Goethe,  as  he  stood 
waiting  to  be  addressed.  The  conversation  then 
began.  “ How  old  are  you  ? ” “ Sixty.”  “You 

are  well  preserved.  You  have  written  tragedies.” 
At  this  point  Daru,  who  had  literary  tastes,  inter- 
vened with  a warm  laudation  of  Goethe’s  work,  and 
specially  mentioned  that  he  had  translated  Voltaire’s 
Mahomet — a play  which  Napoleon  sharply  condemned 
as  doing  injustice  to  one  of  the  world’s  great  men. 
Napoleon  then  turned  the  talk  on  Werther  which  he 
said  he  had  carefully  studied,  and  pointed  out  what 
he  thought  a fault  in  tlffi  book.1  “ Why  did  you  do 
that  ? ” he  asked.  Goethe  smilingly  admitted  the 
fault,  and  added  that  a poet  might  be  pardoned  if 
he  sought  means  to  extricate  himself  from  a difficulty. 
Napoleon  signified  his  approval,  and  then  spoke  of 
the  drama  in  general  with  an  insight  which  greatly 
impressed  Goethe.  One  remark  which  he  reports 
is  characteristically  Napoleonic.  Referring  to  dramas 
in  which  fate  was  the  determining  agency,  he  said 
that  such  things  belonged  to  another  age.  “ Wliat 
have  we  now  to  do  with  fate  ? ” he  asked.  “ Politics 

1 Goethe  does  not  mention  the  fault,  but  it  is  conjectured  that  it  was 
his  assigning  Werther’s  mortification  at  his  treatment  by  his  superiors  when 
he  was  in  office,  as  well  as  his  hopeless  passion  for  Charlotte,  as  a motive 
for  his  suicide.  Wieland  and  Herder  made  the  same  criticism. 


TALKS  WITH  NAPOLEON 


547 


is  fate.”  The  entrance  of  Marshal  Soult  turned 
Napoleon’s  attention  for  a few  moments  to  Poland ; 
then  addressing  himself  again  to  Goethe,  he  questioned 
him  on  his  personal  affairs,  and  his  relations  to  the 
ducal  family,  and  graciously  dismissed  him.1  What 
gave  special  gratification  to  Goethe  in  the  course  of  the 
interview  was  that  Napoleon  spoke  to  him  through- 
out on  terms  of  equality  ( Gleich  gegen  Gleich).  On 
Goethe’s  expressing  his  opinion,  he  signified  his 
approval ; and  when  he  expressed  his  own,  he  usually 
added  : “ Qu’en  dit  M.  Got  ? ” 

A few  days  later  Goethe  had  the  opportunity  of 
further  talk  with  Napoleon,  who,  accompanied  by 
the  Czar  of  Russia,  went  to  Weimar  on  October  6. 
In  the  evening  the  French  company  played  Voltaire’s 
La  Mort  de  Cesar,  and  there  followed  a great  ball 
during  which  Napoleon  had  several  conversations 
with  Wieland  and  Goethe.  It  is  only  Napoleon’s 
remarks  that  have  been  preserved.2  Tragedy,  he 
said,  should  be  the  training-school  of  kings  and 
peoples,  and  is  the  highest  achievement  of  the  poet. 
A tragedy  on  the  death  of  Caesar,  for  example, 
would  be  the  most  beautiful  work  which  Goethe 
could  accomplish,  as  he  would  be  able  to  show,  what 
Voltaire  in  his  tragedy  had  not  done,  that  the  death 
of  Caesar  was  a blunder.3  Speaking  of  Tacitus,  he 
denounced  him  for  his  prejudices,  his  obscurity, 
and  his  detestable  style.  He  expressed  his  wonder 
that  Goethe  should  admire  Shakespeare,  who  mixes 
comedy  with  tragedy,  the  terrible  with  the  burlesque, 
and  that  a great  spirit  such  as  he  should  not  like 
les  genres  tranches.  And  he  pressed  Goethe  to  come 
to  Paris,  where  he  would  gain  a wider  outlook  on  the 
world  and  a superabundance  of  materials  for  poetical 
treatment. 4 

1 According  to  Chancellor  von  Muller,  Napoleon  was  overheard  to  say 
to  Berthier  and  Daru  as  Goethe  left  the  room,  “ Voila  un  homme ! ” 

2 It  is  J.  W.  Falk  who  reports  them. 

3 A tragedy  on  Julius  Caesar  was  one  of  the  abortive  plans  of  Goethe’s 
youth. 

1 Napoleon  conferred  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  on  Goethe  and 
Wieland. 


548 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 

For  public  as  well  as  for  personal  reasons  Goethe 
had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  Napoleon.  He 
had  looked  forward  with  grave  anxiety  to  the  possible 
results  of  the  Congress  for  the  future  of  the  Duchy, 
but  itwasNapoleon’s  interest  to  conciliate  the  German 
princes  with  the  object  of  strengthening  the  Confedera- 
tion of  the  Rhine,  and  he  followed  this  policy  in  the 
case  of  Carl  August.  He  relieved  Weimar  from 
sending  a contingent  to  Spain,  where  the  French 
armies  were  now  fighting,  and  he  presented  Jena 
with  300,000  francs  as  an  indemnity  for  the  losses 
it  had  sustained  by  the  battle.  As  a result,  there 
was  a general  feeling  that  Germany  might  find  peace 
and  happiness  under  French  domination — an  event 
which  would  not  have  discomposed  Goethe.  Now 
that  he  had  seen  and  spoken  with  the  man  Napoleon 
in  the  flesh,  the  opinion  he  had  already  formed  of 
him  as  one  of  the  “ daemonic”  forces  that  have  at 
times  determined  human  destinies  was  deepened 
to  something  like  awe.  The  terms  in  which  he  spoke 
of  him  show  that  he  regarded  him  as  incommensur- 
able ; he  was  “ the  greatest  intelligence  the  world 
had  ever  seen,”  “ the  loftiest  spectacle  that  was 
possible  in  history,”  “ the  compendium  of  the 
world.”  That  he  had  lived  to  see  such  a phenomenon 
in  human  affairs  was  for  Goethe  simply  an  experi- 
ence which  enlarged  his  own  conception  of  the  powers 
of  nature. 1 

The  close  of  1808  brought  another  pleasant  experi- 
ence for  Goethe.  During  November,  December, 
and  part  of  the  following  January,  A.  W.  Humboldt 
was  coming  and  going  between  Jena  and  Weimar, 
and  was  for  some  time  his  guest.  From  Humboldt’s 
letters  written  during  these  months  we  have  a few 
interesting  notes  regarding  Goethe’s  surroundings 

1 Hegel,  then  living  in  Jena,  was  as  much  impressed  as  Goethe  by 
Napoleon’s  part  in  the  scheme  of  things.  “ I saw  the  Emperor,  this  World- 
Soul,”  he  wrote,  “ riding  through  the  town  to  make  a reconnaissance.  It 
is  indeed  a remarkable  sensation  to  see  such  an  individual,  who,  concen- 
trated here  on  one  point  and  sitting  on  a horse,  holds  the  world  in  his  grip 
and  rules  it.” 


VISIT  FROM  HUMBOLDT  549 

and  liis  state  of  mind  at  the  time.  He  was  struck 
by  his  careful  consideration  for  Christiane  and  his 
anxiety  to  establish  her  in  Weimar  society,  though 
he  notes  that,  while  Goethe  addressed  her  as  “ du,” 
she  addressed  him  as  “ Sie.”  He  found  Goethe  full 
of  his  interviews  with  Napoleon,  of  whom  he  always 
spoke  as  “ my  Kaiser.”  1 Regarding  the  state  of 
literature  in  Germany  he  was  in  despair,  and  to 
Humboldt’s  intense  regret  was  more  concerned  about 
its  hopeless  outlook  than  about  the  domination  of 
the  French.  The  best  thing  that  could  happen  to 
the  Germans,  he  said,  would  be  their  dispersion 
among  other  nations  like  the  Jews,  as  at  home  they 
were  intolerable  ; and  an  anecdote  which  Humboldt 
relates  is  a notable  illustration  of  what  in  his  heart 
was  his  real  feeling  towards  the  prevailing  literary 
tendencies  of  the  time.2  At  table  one  day  Goethe 
invited  Zacharias  Werner,  who  was  on  another  visit 
to  Weimar,  to  read  aloud  any  poems  he  had  lately 
written.  Werner  declaimed  in  such  a ludicrous 
fashion  that  the  listeners  had  difficulty  in  restraining 
their  mirth,  but  all  went  well  till  he  read  a sonnet 
in  which  their  host  was  compared  with  the  moon. 
This  was  too  much  for  Goethe,  who,  in  a towering 
rage,  used  such  strong  language  that  Werner  had 
to  leave  the  room,  and  with  some  difficulty  made  his 
peace  through  the  intervention  of  Christiane.  “ God 
be  thanked,”  Goethe  is  reported  to  have  exclaimed 
about  the  same  time  ; “ there  are  still  among  the 
learned  in  Weimar  more  heathens  than  neo-Chris- 
tians.” 

Goethe  says  of  the  year  1809  that  he  must  always 
retain  a pleasant  memory  of  it  as  a year  of  “ notable 
successes,”  but  it  was  a disastrous  year  for 
Germany.  It  saw  the  first  attempt  at  a war  of  libera- 
tion, an  attempt  which  ended  in  miserable  failure. 

1 Humboldt  also  notes  that  Goethe  constantly  wore  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour. 

2 Humboldt  was  not  present  at  the  scene.  It  is  described  by  H.  Steffens, 
Qesprache,  II.  13-14. 


550 


FROM  1805  TO  1809 

Napoleon,  suspecting  that  Austria,  taking  advantage 
of  his  difficulties  in  Spain,  was  preparing  for  war, 
goaded  her  into  overt  action,  and  in  the  course  of  the 
summer  and  autumn  decisively  broke  her  power. 
Goethe,  as  he  constantly  reiterates,  held  himself 
deliberately  aloof  from  politics,  but  he  could  not  escape 
the  existing  conditions.  The  state  of  his  health  was 
such  as  would  have  necessitated  another  sojourn 
in  Carlsbad,  but  Carlsbad  was  in  the  war  zone,  and 
he  had  to  spend  the  year  partly  in  Weimar  and  partly 
in  Jena,  two  places,  he  wrote  to  Zelter,  which  the 
Prussians  would  long  ago  have  destroyed  if  they 
could.  The  “ notable  successes  ” he  was  able  to 
secure  were  mainly  the  improvement  of  the  Weimar 
Library,  and  the  completion  of  Die  Wahlverwandt- 
schaften,  which  work  and  Pandora  are  his  only  two 
creative  efforts  of  larger  scope  during  the  period  we 
are  considering. 

As  we  leave  him  at  this  point,  we  may  have 
before  us  the  impression  he  made  on  one  who  bears 
an  honoured  name,  not  only  in  Germany,  but  wherever 
high  character  and  splendid  service  to  scholarship 
are  appreciated.  In  December,  1809,  Wilhelm 
Grimm,  the  younger  of  the  two  famous  brothers, 
spent  some  time  in  Weimar  and  paid  several  visits 
to  Goethe,  whose  reception  of  him  he  thus  describes. 
“ I had  often  seen  his  portrait  and  was  perfectly 
familiar  with  it,  and  yet,  how  I was  surprised  by 
the  majesty,  perfection,  candour,  and  goodness  of 
that  countenance ! In  friendly  tones  he  bade  me 
sit  down  and  began  to  talk.  ...  I remained  almost 
an  hour  with  him  ; he  spoke  with  such  friendliness 
and  goodness  that  I did  not  always  remember  what 
a great  man  he  is  ; only  when  I had  gone  or  when 
he  was  silent,  did  I realize  it,  and  realize,  also,  how 
kindly  he  must  be  and  how  little  pride  he  must  have, 
to  converse  with  one  of  so  little  importance,  to  whom 
he  had  nothing  special  to  say.”  1 

1 Oespmche,  II.  5S-9. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


PANDORA— DIE  WAHL  VER WANDTSCHA FTEN 

We  have  seen  how  Goethe,  in  spite  of  conditions 
that  would  have  arrested  the  productiveness  of  most 
men,  turned  out  a considerable  tale  of  literary  work 
between  1805  and  1809.  During  these  years  he 
continued  his  labours  at  his  Farbenlehre,  superin- 
tended a complete  edition  of  his  works,  published  the 
First  Part  of  Faust,  wrote  the  fragment  Pandora, 
and  produced  in  its  entirety.  Die  Wahlverwandt- 
schaften.  In  one  direction  of  his  creative  activity, 
however,  this  period  presents  a striking  contrast  to 
the  period  during  which  he  had  Schiller  by  his  side. 
A remarkable  result  of  his  intercourse  with  Schiller 
had  been  the  number  and  variety  of  shorter  poems 
he  had  poured  forth  from  year  to  year  ; but  of  such 
poems  the  period  immediately  succeeding  Schiller’s 
- death  is  singularly  barren.  His  poverty  of  produc- 
tion in  this  vein  may  have  a simple  explanation  ; 
the  loss  of  Schiller,  his  own  frequent  ill  health,  the 
depressing  political  atmosphere  of  the  time  lowered 
his  vitality  and  rendered  less  frequent  the  recurrence 
of  those  moods  which  find  expression  in  occasional 
poetry.  As  it  is,  we  have  only  some  half  a dozen 
shorter  things  from  his  hand  during  all  these  five 
years.  The  best  known  and  most  remarkable  of 
them  has  already  been  mentioned— the  epilogue 
to  Schiller’s  GlocJce,  written  shortly  after  Schiller’s 
death.  The  remaining  pieces  were  produced  at  long 
intervals.  To  1806  belongs  Vanitas ! Vanitatum 
Vanitas ! a parody  of  a church  song  by  a con- 
temporary which  stirred  Goethe’s  wrath  by  its 

651 


552  PANDORA 

disparagement  of  earthly  pleasures.  In  1807-8  were 
written  the  Sonnets  associated  with  Minna  Herzlieb  ; 
in  1808  Der  Goldschmiedsgesell  and  Wirkung  in  die 
Feme,  two  playful  piecesconceivedin  his  best  humour; 
and  in  1809  Johanna  Sebus,  a ballad  commemorating 
the  act  of  a girl  who  lost  her  life  in  the  attempt  to 
rescue  her  family  from  drowning.  Such  is  the 
meagre  tale  of  Goethe’s  efforts  in  this  special  line  of 
his  poetical  activities  during  the  years  1805-9 ; 
during  the  period  before  us  his  powers  found  exercise 
along  other  lines. 

Pandora  and  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  are 
Goethe’s  two  most  memorable  productions  during 
our  period,  but  there  is  a slighter  performance  that 
deserves  a passing  reference  as  remarkably  illus- 
trating his  attitude  to  the  political  conditions  of  the 
time.  We  have  seen  how  the  action  of  Carl  August 
in  taking  part  with  Prussia  in  her  war  against 
Napoleon  had  imperilled  his  possession  of  the  Duchy. 
As  it  happened,  he  was  allowed  to  retain  it,  though 
at  the  cost  of  both  a material  and  a moral  sacrifice. 
He  had  had  to  pay  a heavy  indemnity,  and  he  had 
been  forced  to  join  the  Confederation  of  the  Rhine 
which  acknowledged  Napoleon  as  its  head.  In 
July,  1807,  Prussia  made  peace  with  France,  and 
in  the  following  September  the  whole  ducal  family 
returned  to  Weimar,  whence,  with  the  exception  of 
the  Duchess  Luise,  all  its  members  had  fled  before 
the  battle  of  Jena.  For  a double  reason  it  seemed 
to  Goethe  that  the  occasion  called  for  some  special 
celebration  ; the  reassembling  of  the  ducal  famity 
was  an  auspicious  event,  and,  moreover,  their  return 
implied  the  inauguration  of  what  appeared  to  be  a 
settled  peace.  The  form  chosen  for  the  celebration 
was,  as  we  know,  a favourite  one  with  Goethe — an 
emblematic  representation  of  the  events  and  cir- 
cumstances that  were  immediately  present  to  the 
minds  of  the  spectators.  The  title  given  to  the 
piece  explains  its  intention  : Prelude  for  the  Opening 
of  the  Weimar  Theatre  on  September  19,  1807,  after 


GOETHE’S  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY  553 

the  Happy  Return  of  the  Ducal  Family.  The  cha- 
racters are  the  Goddess  of  War,  a Fugitive,  Majesty, 
and  Peace.  The  Goddess  opens  the  representation 
with  a speech  expressing  her  fiendish  joy  in  all  the 
horrors  she  has  recently  wrought,  and  she  is  followed 
by  the  Fugitive  who  draws  a piteous  picture  of  the 
desolation  caused  by  the  hosts  from  which  he  is 
fleeing.  There  follows  a dialogue  between  Majesty 
and  Peace,  in  which  the  former  enunciates  Goethe’s 
political  philosophy — that  public  and  private  interests 
alike  are  best  served  by  the  citizen  who  attends  most 
diligently  to  his  own  business  ; and  the  latter  bestows 
her  blessing  on  the  land  now  happily  relieved  from 
the  horrors  of  war.  As  has  been  said,  the  piece  calls 
for  a special  reference,  not  on  account  of  its  literary 
merit,  but  for  another  reason.  The  peace  which 
Goethe  hailed  had  been  effected  by  Napoleon’s 
victories,  and  it  was  to  be  maintained  under  his 
sway.  That  the  poet  should  have  announced  thus 
publicly  and  unmistakably  his  acceptance  of  French 
ascendancy  in  Germany  is  a remarkable  illustration 
of  his  indifference  to  national  feeling,  and,  in  view  of 
Carl  August’s  past  action  and  of  wliat  Goethe  knew 
to  be  his  personal  sympathies,  the  whole  perform- 
ance must  be  considered  a bold  venture  on  the  part 
of  a Minister  in  the  face  of  his  sovereign. 1 

Pandora  may  be  regarded  as  an  illustration  of  the 
saying  of  Wagner  that,  while  Napoleon  was  engaged 
with  the  Schein  of  things,  Goethe  was  engaged 
with  their  Wesen.  Goethe  regarded  Napoleon  with 
wondering  interest  as  a daemonic  force  let  loose  by 
nature  for  the  world’s  astonishment,  and,  if  the 
result  of  his  career  had  been  the  establishment  of 
a European  peace,  he  would  willingly  have  accepted 
his  universal  domination.  But,  even  if  this  result 
were  achieved,  mankind  would  in  Goethe’s  view  have 
been  brought  only  a very  little  way.  For  the 

1 Goethe  calls  the  piece  einen  seltsamen  Prolog.  The  majority  of  the 
audience,  as  well  as  Carl  August,  must  have  been  out  of  sympathy  with  the 
opinions  it  expressed. 


554  PANDORA 

perfection  of  humanity,  other  influences  must  be 
operative  in  men’s  hearts  and  minds — influences 
which  are  to  be  found  only  in  the  conception  of 
beauty  as  involving  all  goodness  and  all  truth ; and 
Pandora,  which  unfortunately  remained  a fragment, 
is  Goethe’s  attempt  to  embody  this  idea. 

As  had  often  happened,  it  was  an  external  prompt- 
ing that  induced  him  to  make  a beginning  with 
Pandora.  Two  young  friends  who  were  about  to 
found  a journal  in  Vienna,  to  be  entitled  Prometheus, 
asked  him  for  a contribution,  and  as  the  myth  of 
Prometheus  had  long  interested  him,1  he  eagerly 
seized  the  opportunity  of  embodying  the  conceptions 
which  were  already  formed  in  his  mind.  He  received 
his  friends’  invitation  at  the  end  of  October,  1807, 
and  on  the  way  to  his  memorable  sojourn  in  Jena 
at  the  close  of  that  year  he  communicated  to  Riemer 
the  plan  of  the  whole.  He  was  in  Jena  from 
November  11,  and  between  that  date  and  December 
2 he  wrote  rather  more  than  half  of  the  fragment 
we  possess.  How  he  was  diverted  from  prosecuting 
his  task  at  this  time,  we  have  already  learned ; on 
December  1 Zacharias  Werner  arrived,  and  there 
followed  that  sonnet-competition  in  which  Goethe 
took  part.  But  what  he  did  write  in  Jena  proves 
that  an  element  entered  into  his  work  which  was 
foreign  to  its  original  conception.  It  was  character- 
istic of  Goethe  at  all  times  that  he  could  not  exclude 
from  any  creative  work  on  which  he  was  engaged 
any  intense  experience  through  which  at  the  time  he 
happened  to  be  passing.  His  infatuation  for  Minna 
Herzlieb  was  such  an  experience,  and  it  is  his  own 
confession  that  Pandora  gives  expression  to  “ the 
bitter  feeling  of  deprivation  ” occasioned  by  his 
having  to  renounce  her.  And  the  experience  was 
fortunate  in  the  interests  of  the  poem,  for  it  re- 
awakened the  failing  ardours  of  youth  and  communi- 
cated to  a work,  which  otherwise  might  have  been  a 

1 In  his  youth  he  had  written  a remarkable  fragment  on  the  Prometheus 
myth. 


555 


ITS  INSPIRATION 

piece  of  cold  symbolism,  a glow  and  intensity  of 
feeling  unsurpassed  in  any  other  of  Goethe’s  writings. 
Not  till  the  spring  of  the  following  year  did  he  resume 
and  complete  the  fragment  as  we  have  it,  but  in  the 
interval  there  had  been  no  cooling  of  his  feelings,  as 
the  second  half  is  even  more  powerfully  charged  with 
emotion  than  the  first. 

It  is  difficult  to  give  an  account  of  a work  which 
one  of  Goethe’s  German  biographers  describes  as 
“ the  hardest  to  understand  ” of  any  he  gave  to  the 
world.  Goethe  himself  says  of  it  that,  as  a whole, 
it  must  work  on  its  readers  “as  it  were  mysteriously,” 
but  that  the  individual  reader  may  understand  and 
appropriate  details  which  appeal  to  himself.  Its 
principal  personages,  all  symbolical  of  qualities  and 
tendencies,  are  six  in  number : the  two  brothers, 
Epimetheus  and  Prometheus  ; Elpore  (Hope)  and 
Epimeleia  (Diligence),  daughters  of  Epimetheus  by 
Pandora  (who  does  not  appear  in  the  fragment 1)  ; 
Phileros  (one  prone  to  love),  the  son  of  Prometheus ; 
and  Eos  (Dawn)  ; while  a crowd  of  subsidiary 
figures — smiths,  shepherds,  fishers  and  others — occa- 
sionally appear  and  give  expression  to  the  interests 
which  they  symbolize.  The  scenery  to  be  presented 
to  the  audience  suggested  the  different  preoccupations 
of  the  two  brothers.  To  the  left  was  a mountainous 
country,  the  domain  of  Prometheus,  in  which  a busy 
mining  community  pursued  their  labours  ; to  the 
right  was  the  domain  of  Epimetheus,  in  which  the 
most  prominent  object  was  a wooden  building  of 
antique  structure,  surrounded  by  others  of  like 
pattern  but  on  a smaller  scale,  and  situated  in  a 
rural  country,  where  gardening  and  agriculture  are 
the  occupations  of  the  inhabitants. 2 

There  is  little  causal  connection  between  the 
successive  scenes.  Their  interest  lies  in  the  con- 
trasted passions  and  ideals  of  the  characters  who 

1 Goethe  originally  entitled  the  work  Pandoras  Wiederhinft  ; hut  as 
Pandora  does  not  appear,  it  was  simply  called  Pandora. 

The  scenery  is  described  as  “after  Poussin.’’ 


556  PANDORA 

appear  in  them,  though  Epimetheus,  with  his  dream 
of  Pandora,  may  be  regarded  as  the  central  figure 
round  whom  the  drama  develops.  A leading  con- 
ception in  the  fragment  is  the  contrast  between  the 
ideals  of  Prometheus  and  of  Epimetheus.  Prometheus 
finds  complete  satisfaction  in  the  work  of  his  mining 
community,  and,  convinced  that  toil  and  strife  are 
inevitable  conditions  imposed  on  man,  is  content 
to  accept  the  world  as  he  finds  it.  Epimetheus,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  the  idealist,  incapable  of  finding 
satisfaction  in  the  prose  of  life.  He  consumes  his 
days  in  laments  for  the  loss  of  Pandora,  who  embodied 
all  his  ideals,  and  who,  after  sojourning  wi+h  him  for 
a time,  had  left  him  and  taken  with  her  their  daughter 
Elpore.  Into  the  passionate  laments  of  Epimetheus 
for  the  lost  Pandora  Goethe  has  poured  his  own 
experience  resulting  from  his  passion  for  Minna 
Herzlieb.  The  one  incident  in  the  fragment,  and  it 
is  its  darkest  mystery,  is  associated  with  the  loves 
of  Phileros  and  Epimeleia.  Under  a misappre- 
hension, which  reminds  us  that  we  are  in  a primitive 
society,  Phileros  attempts  to  murder  Epimeleia,  but 
she  is  saved  by  Prometheus,  who  banishes  his  son 
from  his  presence.  All  is  eventually  explained, 
however,  and  the  happjr  union  of  the  lovers  effected. 
By  the  intervention  of  Eos  (Dawn),  Phileros,  who  had 
attempted  to  drown  himself,  is  safely  brought  to 
land,  attended  by  a concourse  of  fishers  and  dolphins, 
and  Epimeleia  is  rescued  from  a conflagration  in  her 
father’s  woods.  The  fragment  ends  with  a dialogue 
between  Prometheus  and  Eos,  in  which  Goethe 
comes  nearest  to  a plain  statement  of  his  drift. 
Prometheus  says  that  he  desires  nothing  new  in  the 
world,  which  is  already  sufficiently  established  and 
provided,  and  in  which  man  will  find  content  if  he 
will  but  set  himself  to  combine  the  experience  of  his 
past  with  the  experience  of  the  present.  The  reply 
of  Eos  occupies  the  concluding  lines,  and  we  may 
take  it  as  expressing  the  primary  conception  of  the 
fragment : — 


557 


ITS  SYMBOLISM 

Gross  beginnet  ihr  Titanen  ; aber  leiten 

Zu  dem  ewig  Guten,  ewig  Schonen, 

1st  der  Gotter  Werk  ; die  lasst  gewahren  ! 

As  the  projected  continuation  of  the  drama  is 
sketched  by  Goethe,  Pandora  was  to  drop  her  box 
on  earth — to  the  satisfaction  of  Phileros,  but  to  the 
displeasure  of  Prometheus,  whose  warriors  were  to 
be  prevented  from  breaking  it  open  by  the  inter- 
vention of  his  smiths.  As  the  box  was  to  be  again 
threatened  with  violence,  Pandora  was  herself  to 
appear,  bringing  with  her  “ beauty,  piet}^,  peace,  and 
sabbath  rest,”  The  box  was  then  to  open  of  itself 
in  a temple  dedicated  to  science  and  art,  over  which 
Phileros  and  Epimeleia  were  to  preside  as  priest  and 
priestess.  Epimetheus,  rejuvenated,  was  to  be  borne 
to  Olympus  by  Pandora,  and  in  the  concluding  scene 
Elpore  Thraseia  (Confident  Hope)  was  to  present 
herself  to  the  spectators. 

From  this  brief  sketch  the  nature  of  the  work 
will  be  sufficiently  apparent.  In  details,  as  in  the 
whole,  it  is  pure  symbolism  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  opens  up  an  interminable  field  of  conj  ecture  alike 
regarding  the  precise  import  of  the  personages  them- 
selves, the  opinions  they  express,  and  the  scenes 
in  which  they  appear.  In  Das  Mdrchen  Goethe  had 
already  provided  an  example  of  the  symbolical  treat- 
ment of  a theme,  and  in  the  Second  Part  of  Faust  he 
was  to  give  himself  free  play.  That  it  was  an  aberra- 
tion from  true  art  the  world  in  general  is  agreed. 
Groping  his  way  in  a land  of  shadows,  the  reader 
receives  no  definite  impressions  whose  cumulative 
effect  results  in  the  conception  of  a definite  whole. 
Fortunately,  as  has  been  said,  the  factitious  scheme 
of  the  work,  as  Goethe  originally  conceived  it,  came 
to  be  charged  with  an  element  whose  presence,  in 
greater  or  less  degree,  is  felt  throughout  the  whole 
poem.  The  songs  of  Epimetheus  and  Epimeleia 
reproduce  the  personal  note  of  Goethe’s  own  “ depri- 
vation,” and  it  is  agreed  that  nowhere  has  he  dis- 
played his  poetic  resources  in  greater  plenitude  than 


558  DIE  WAHLVERWANDTSCHAFTEN 

in  these  songs.  Here,  instead  of  the  studied  pose  of 
the  language  of  Tasso  and  Iphigenie,  we  have  all  the 
abandonment  of  Gotz  and  Werther,  with  a richness, 
variety,  and  power  of  expression  to  which  he  could 
not  attain  in  these  works  of  his  youth. 

Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  ( The  Elective  Affinities),1 
like  Pandora,  is  inspired  (Goethe  tells  us)  by  the 
sense  of  deprivation  he  experienced  on  his  renuncia- 
tion of  Minna  Herzlieb,  but  in  the  later  work  the 
feeling  finds  widely  different  expression.  While  the 
prevailing  note  in  Pandora  is  lyrical,  in  Die  W ahlver- 
wandtschaften  we  have  psychological  analysis  earned 
out  from  first  to  last  with  perfect  objectivity.  Like 
Pandora  it  was  not  primarily  prompted  by  his 
experience  with  Minna  Herzlieb  ; the  conception  of 
the  work  had  long  been  in  his  mind,  and  that  ex- 
perience only  gave  the  immediate  stimulus  to  its 
production. 

Goethe  first  makes  reference  to  Die  Wahlverwandt- 
schaften in  the  summer  of  1807  ; his  intercourse  with 
Minna  came  in  November  and  December  of  that  year, 
and  in  the  beginning  of  1808  he  addressed  himself  to 
its  composition.  Like  most  of  Goethe’s  longer  works 
it  was  produced  under  intermittent  fits  of  inspiration, 
and  it  was  not  till  October,  1809,  that  it  was  given  to 
the  world.  The  theme  of  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften, 
as  a brief  outline  of  it  will  show,  touches  the  springs  of 
human  conduct,  and,  therefore,  the  very  foundations 
of  human  society.  The  opening  chapter  of  the 
romance,  as  it  is  entitled,  clearly  indicates  what  will 
be  its  development.  Eduard,  a rich  baron,  has  been 
leading  a tolerable  existence  with  Charlotte  his  wife, 
quietly  engaged  in  the  management  of  his  estate. 
Each  is,  however,  conscious  that  there  is  no  real 
bond  of  sympathy  between  them — a coldness  of 
relations  which  is  explained  by  their  previous  history. 
In  youth  they  had  been  lovers,  but  by  the  will  of  their 
parents  both  had  made  marriages  of  convenance. 

1 The  word  Wahlverwandtschaften  is  the  translation  of  De  atfracticmibvs 
electivis,  the  title  of  a work  on  physical  science  by  a Swede,  Bergmann, 


ITS  PLOT 


559 


Freed  by  the  death  of  their  respective  partners,  they 
had  realized  the  desire  of  their  j^outh  comparatively 
late  in  life,  and  had  married.  It  was  gradually 
brought  home  to  them  that  only  the  memory  of  their 
love  had  prompted  their  union,  and  that  there  was 
no  real  affinity  of  nature  between  them.  This  is 
their  relation  to  each  other  when  we  are  introduced 
to  them,  and  it  does  not  surprise  us,  therefore,  when 
Eduard  makes  the  proposal  on  which  their  future 
fate  was  to  turn.  This  is  that  they  should  invite  a 
friend  of  his,  a Captain  in  the  army,  to  be  their  guest 
for  a time,  as  a pleasant  and  useful  addition  to  their 
society.  With  a sure  instinct  Charlotte  sees  dangerous 
possibilities  in  the  Captain’s  presence  and  offers  a 
strong  opposition  to  the  proposal.  In  the  conversa- 
tion that  ensues  between  them,  we  are  made  fully 
aware  of  their  respective  characters.  Weakly 
emotional  by  nature,  Eduard  had  been  spoilt  in  his 
youth  ; and,  as  he  comes  before  us,  he  is  devoid  of 
any  sense  of  the  higher  obligations  of  life  and 
incapable  of  self-control.  Charlotte,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  acquainted  with  the  world,  has  a regard  for 
its  conventions,  thinks  of  others  besides  herself,  and, 
calm  by  temperament,  can  take  a sane  view  of  the 
consequences  of  her  actions.  In  a second  conversa- 
tion Eduard  returns  to  the  subject,  when  Charlotte 
makes  the  confession  that  she  also  has  a friend  whom 
she  would  like  to  invite  as  a guest,  but  that  she  has 
refrained  from  suggesting  her  coming,  as  a possible 
occasion  of  undesirable  consequences.  This  friend, 
Ottilie,  was  a niece  of  Charlotte’s  whom  she  knew  to 
be  unhappy  at  the  school  where  she  was  placed.  She 
does  not  tell  Eduard  that,  before  her  marriage  with 
hing  she  had  tried  to  effect  a union  between  him  and 
Ottilie,  to  whom,  however,  he  was  not  attracted. 
Eduard  now  proposes  that  she  should  invite  Ottilie 
and  that  he  should  invite  the  Captain — a proposition 
to  which  Charlotte  at  first  demurs  as  a risky  experi- 
ment for  Ottilie  and  the  Captain.  Finally,  with 
the  remark  that  we  can  never  know  whether  such 


560  DIE  WAHLVERWANDTSCHAFTEN 

arrangements  will  turn  out  well  or  ill,  she  consents  to 
Eduard’s  inviting  the  Captain,  she  being  left  free  to 
invite  Ottilie  when  she  thinks  fit. 

The  Captain,  who  is  the  first  to  appear,  proves 
to  be  a man  of  sense  and  discretion  with  notable 
practical  talents.  A short  experience  of  his  presence, 
however,  tends  to  convince  Charlotte  that  her 
instincts  had  not  misled  her.  Eduard  becomes  pre- 
occupied with  the  Captain  regarding  arrangements 
on  his  estate,  and  she  feels  that,  whereas  she  had 
formerly  been  his  confidant  in  all  such  matters,  she 
is  now  being  set  aside.  A conversation  that  takes 
place  between  the  three  disquiets  her,  and  is  a signifi- 
cant commentary  on  all  that  is  to  follow.  The 
Captain  was  interested  in  chemistry  among  other 
things,  and  spoke  of  the  attraction  that  exists 
between  different  substances.  We  have  A and  B 
on  the  one  hand,  and  C and  D on  the  other,  he  said, 
apparently  inseparably  connected,  but  bring  the 
pairs  into  each  others’  presence,  and  you  will  see 
A fly  to  D and  C to  B.  Half  jestingly  Eduard 
suggests  that  Charlotte  should  send  for  Ottilie,  and 
they  might  then  watch  the  operation  of  similar 
affinities  in  the  case  of  human  beings.  For  reasons 
of  her  own  Charlotte  does  invite  Ottilie,  who  soon 
joins  the  party. 

We  are  already  acquainted  with  Ottilie’ s character- 
istics, since  the  Lady  Superior  of  the  school  where 
she  had  been  placed  and  a male  Assistant, 
whose  heart  she  had  touched,  had  communicated  to 
Charlotte  the  impressions  that  they  had  formed. 
She  was  one  of  those  beings  whom  Goethe  called 
“ problematical  ” characters,  of  an  intensely  brood- 
ing nature,  tremulously  sensitive  to  her  surroundings, 
both  persons  and  things.  A quiet  grace,  pervading 
all  she  says  and  does,  is  her  distinguishing  external 
characteristic.  In  her  case  especially  Goethe  lias 
sought  to  show  what  he  understood  b}T  the  action 
of  “ elective  affinities  ” in  the  case  of  human  beings. 
She  is  abnormally  sensitive  to  magnetic  influences ; 


ITS  PLOT 


561 


when  she  passes  a certain  spot,  she  is  attacked  by 
headache ; and  it  is  implied  that  in  the  manner  in 
which  her  being  is  at  once  absorbed  in  that  of 
Eduard  we  have  an  example  of  the  same  mysterious 
agencies,  for  the  attraction  between  Eduard  and 
Ottilie  at  once  declares  itself.  We  are  now  in  presence 
of  the  tragedy  of  the  situation.  But  it  develops  in 
the  most  leisurely  manner.  The  avocations  of  the 
party,  indoors  and  out-of-doors,  are  described  with  a 
minuteness  which  is  provoking  to  most  readers,  but 
in  which  Goethe  himself  evidently  found  either  a 
relief  or  a direct  pleasure.  The  immediate  result  of 
Ottilie’ s coming  is  that  she  and  Eduard  drift  apart 
from  Charlotte  and  the  Captain,  who,  left  to  them- 
selves, are  also  drawn  to  each  other  by  the  affinities. 
On  one  and  the  same  day,  curiously  enough,  both 
couples  discover  the  relations  in  which  they  stand  to 
each  other.  The  occasion  of  the  mutual  confession 
of  Eduard  and  Ottilie  is  one  of  the  touches  that 
characterize  the  book.  Eduard  had  given  her  a 
manuscript  to  transcribe,  and  when  she  presented 
her  copy  to  him  he  saw  to  his  astonishment  that,  w hile 
the  beginning  was  written  in  her  own  hand,  the  script 
gradually  assimilated  to  his  own,  and  the  last  page 
was  an  exact  reproduction  of  it,  “ Ottilie,  you  love 
me,”  he  exclaimed ; and  they  understood  each 
other.  More  on  the  lines  of  ordinary  romance  was 
the  occasion  of  Charlotte  and  the  Captain’s  explana- 
tion. While  Eduard  and  Ottilie  were  having  their 
interview,  the  two  others  were  sailing  on  the  lake 
adjoining  the  castle.  The  boat  ran  aground  ; the 
Captain  carried  Charlotte  ashore,  kissed  her,  and 
begged  her  forgiveness.  The  two  scenes  are  brought 
together  with  the  express  intention  of  illustrating 
the  different  natures  and  different  attitudes  to  life 
of  Eduard  and  Ottilie,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
Charlotte  and  the  Captain,  on  the  other.  In  yielding 
to  their  emotions  the  former  pair  have  no  thought 
beyond  the  moment’s  rapture ; while  the  latter, 
recognizing  that  they  are  face  to  face  with  a crisis 

VOL.  II.  m 


562  DIE  WAHLVEB  WANDTSCHAFTEN 

in  their  lives,  come  at  once  to  the  decision  that  the 
Captain  must  leave  the  Castle. 

When  Eduard  hears  of  the  intended  departure  of 
the  Captain,  he  concludes  that  it  is  by  arrangement 
with  Charlotte,  who  is  thus  smoothing  the  way  for 
their  divorce.  He  finds  he  is  mistaken,  as  she 
suggests  that  Ottilie  should  also  leave  the  Castle, 
when  they  would  be  in  a position  to  resume  their 
former  course  of  life.  To  this  proposal  Eduard  will 
not  consent,  and,  without  intimating  his  intention, 
himself  leaves  the  Castle.  He  does  not  go  far, 
however,  and  is  found  by  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
household,  Mittler  by  name,  who  makes  it  the  business 
of  his  life  to  patch  up  family  quarrels.  Eduard 
persuades  Mittler  to  convey  a message  from  him  to 
Charlotte,  proposing  their  divorce.  To  Mittler’ s 
delight  Charlotte  tells  him  she  is  about  to  become  a 
mother,  but  the  information  has  not  the  effect  he 
expected  on  Eduard,  who  promptly  decides  to  engage 
in  military  service. 

A succession  of  chapters  next  describes  the 
experiences  of  Charlotte  and  Ottilie  during  the 
absence  of  Eduard — an  interruption  in  the  narrative 
which  does  not  contribute  to  its  effectiveness.  On 
the  return  of  Eduard,  however,  all  parties  are  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  situation  they  have  created  for 
themselves,  and  the  concluding  chapters  are  suggestive 
of  the  sentimental  drama.  Taking  up  his  residence 
at  a place  on  his  estate,  Eduard  summons  the 
Captain  (now  a Major),  and  persuades  him  against 
his  will  to  go  to  Charlotte  and  propose  to  her  that 
she  should  consent  to  a divorce  and  many  the  Major. 
While  the  Major  is  on  this  errand,  Eduard  encounters 
Ottilie  with  Charlotte’s  infant  child  by  the  side  of 
the  lake.  He  tells  her  the  errand  on  which  he  has 
sent  the  Major  but,  when  he  is  about  to  embrace  her, 
she  points  to  the  child.  Here  we  have  another 
touch  to  remind  us  of  the  occult  influences  at  work 
in  human  relations.  From  the  child’s  birth  every- 
body had  recognized  that  it  had  the  eyes  of  Ottilie 


ITS  PLOT  563 

and  the  features  of  the  Major,  and  with  amazement 
Eduard  sees  the  double  resemblance.1  As  the  result 
of  the  interview,  Ottilie  consents  to  marry  him  in  the 
event  of  Charlotte’s  yielding  to  the  Major’s  request. 
On  their  parting  she  enters  a boat  with  the  child, 
and  in  her  agitation  loses  an  oar.  As  she  is  trying 
to  recover  it,  the  child  falls  into  the  water,  and 
though  she  succeeds  in  rescuing  it,  life  is  found 
to  be  extinct  when  she  reaches  the  Castle.  In  the 
confusion  created  by  this  event  the  Major  arrives 
with  Eduard’s  request  to  Charlotte,  who,  with  the 
remark  that  destiny  will  occasionally  have  its  way, 
consents  to  the  divorce,  but  refuses  to  commit  herself 
regarding  her  future  relations  to  the  Major. 

Ottilie,  overwhelmed  by  the  death  of  the  child,  for 
which  she  is  responsible,  is  wakened  to  a sense  of  her 
misguided  conduct  and  refuses  to  marry  Eduard. 
It  is  arranged  that  she  shall  go  to  the  school  whence 
she  had  come,  but  on  the  way  she  meets  Eduard  who 
had  been  lying  in  wait  for  her.  She  persists  in  her 
refusal  to  marry  him,  and,  somewhat  inexplicably, 
they  both  return  to  the  Castle.  In  what  follows  we 
are  in  the  world  of  sentimental  romance.  All  the 
four  find  themselves  once  more  together  and  in  the 
meshes  of  their  destiny.  Charlotte,  always  animated 
by  higher  motives  than  the  others,  consents  to  marry 
the  Major,  if  Ottilie  will  marry  Eduard,  but  on 
condition  that  the  two  men  shall  go  abroad  for  a time. 
A mysterious  letter,  however,  addressed  by  Ottilie 
to  her  friends,  gives  Eduard  some  hope  that  she  will 
eventually  consent  to  be  his,  and  he  resolves  to 
remain  at  the  Castle.  Meantime  Ottilie’s  conduct 
gives  rise  to  anxious  fears  ; she  never  opens  her 
mouth,  and  at  her  request  her  food  is  taken  to  her 
own  room.  One  evening  the  friend  of  the  family, 
Mittler,  during  the  course  of  a call,  was  enlarging  on 
a favourite  topic  of  his,  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage- 
bond,  when  Ottilie  entered  the  room.  On  taking  in 
his  words,  she  rushed  to  her  own  apartment,  and 

1 This  touch  horrified  Fritz  Jacobi. 


564  DIE  WAHLVERWANDTSCHAFTEN 

immediately  her  maid  appeared  and  excitedly  an- 
nounced that  her  mistress  was  at  the  point  of  death. 
It  is  now  discovered  that  she  had  for  some  time 
ceased  to  take  food  and  that  she  is  really  dying. 
Seated  on  a couch,  she  calls  for  a box  which  contained 
certain  mementoes  of  Eduard,  and  requests  that  it 
be  placed  under  her  feet.  In  this  position  she  dies, 
her  last  words  to  Eduard  being,  “ Promise  me  to 
live.”  The  details  that  follow  are  entirely  in  the 
manner  of  the  Romantics.  The  day  following  her 
death  was  Eduard’s  birthday,  and  she  was  arrayed 
in  the  festal  dress  she  was  to  have  worn  on  the 
occasion.  The  funeral  rites  were  conducted  after 
the  Roman  fashion,  and  we  are  told  that  miracles 
were  wrought  at  her  tomb.  Eduard  did  not  long 
survive  her  loss,  and,  with  Charlotte’s  consent,  he 
was  buried  by  her  side.  “ So,”  the  tale  concludes 
in  words  that  come  strangely  from  Goethe,  who  had 
openly  boasted  that  he  wras  of  the  creed  of  Lucretius, 
“so  lie  the  lovers,  sleeping  side  by  side.  Peace 
hovers  over  their  resting-place.  Fair  angel-faces 
gaze  down  upon  them  from  the  vaulted  ceiling,  and 
what  a happy  moment  that  will  be  when  one  day 
they  wake  again  together  ! ” 1 

Goethe  said  of  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  that  there 
was  not  a line  in  it  which  he  had  not  himself  felt,  and 
he  described  it  as  a “ burial-urn  ” in  which  he  had 
deposited  many  sad  experiences.  Assuredly,  in  his 
treatment  of  its  theme  passages  of  his  own  life  could 
not  but  recur  to  his  memory  and  give  it  a poignant 
interest.  He  has  himself  described  the  struggle  it 
cost  him  to  tear  himself  away  from  Lotte  Buff, 
the  betrothed  of  Kestner — an  experience  of  which 
Werther  is  the  record.  When  Maximiliane  von  la 
Roche  married  Peter  Brentano,  “ painful  scenes  ” 
were  occasioned  by  Goethe’s  visits  to  their  home. 
Throughout  his  liaison  with  Frau  von  Stein  he  was 
in  the  same  position  with  regard  to  her  husband  as 

1 This  translation  is  that  in  Bohn’s  Standard  Library,  attributed  to 
Mr.  Froude. 


CRITICAL  ESTIMATE  565 

the  Captain  with  regard  to  Eduard.  And  he  had 
had  a more  recent  experience  of  the  perils  attending 
personal  “ affinities  ” ; in  1806  he  had  married 
Christiane,  and  the  year  following  he  had  been 
fascinated  by  Minna  Herzlieb — with  what  results 
to  his  mental  composure  we  have  seen.  We  can 
readily  believe  him,  therefore,  when  he  told  Zelter 
that  much  of  his  own  experience  was  embodied  in  Die 
W ahlverwandtschaften. 

On  its  appearance  it  was  subjected  to  the  same 
charge  as  Werther — the  charge  of  sapping  the  founda- 
tions of  morality  and  of  human  responsibility.  It 
was  said  of  Werther  that  it  was  a specious  justification 
of  suicide  ; of  Die  W ahlverwandtschaften,  that  it  dis- 
credited the  sanctity  of  the  marriage-bond.  That 
there  was  some  ground  for  the  charge  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  to  the  present  day  opinion  is  divided  regard- 
ing its  tendency,  and  it  has  always  been  regarded  in 
Germany,  we  are  told,  as  the  most  dangerous  in  its 
suggestions  among  all  Goethe’s  works.  In  the  case 
of  at  least  two  of  the  characters,  Eduard  and 
Ottilie,  we  see  exemplified  the  complete  abdication 
of  personal  responsibility  and  an  unresisting  abandon- 
ment to  passion.1  Wholly  absorbed  in  the  emotions 
of  the  moment,  they  do  not  give  a thought  to  the 
consequences  of  their  actions  for  themselves  or  for 
others.  Ottilie,  indeed,  is  awakened  to  a sense  of 
her  moral  error,  but  it  is  only  by  the  tragedy  of  the 
child’s  drowning  and  not  by  the  spontaneous  working 
of  conscience.  Even  the  conduct  of  Charlotte,  who 
realizes  social  obligations  and  is  not  the  slave  of 
passion,  leaves  some  hesitations  on  the  mind  of 
the  reader ; her  reason  for  consenting  to  marry 
the  Maj  or  is  that  destiny  occasionally  overrides  the 
higher  purposes  of  human  lives.  Moreover,  the 
continual  references  to  occult  physical  influences,  as 
bearing  on  the  conduct  of  all  the  leading  characters, 
leaves  us  in  some  perplexity  as  to  how  far  they 
really  determine  their  respective  fates.  It  is  these 

1 Goethe  disliked  Eduard  because  he  loved  too  “ unconditionally.” 


566  DIE  WAHLVERWANDTSCHAFTEN 

impressions  we  receive  from  the  book  that  give  plausi- 
bility to  the  charge  that  it  is  a veiled  attack  on 
marriage.  Yet  we  may  be  sure  that  no  such  intention 
was  in  Goethe’s  mind.  True,  in  the  past,  both  in  his 
own  life  and  in  words  that  fell  from  him,  he  had  given 
grounds  for  the  imputation  of  the  motive,  but  at  the 
time  when  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  was  written  he 
had  the  fixed  conviction  that  on  the  sacredness  of 
the  marriage-bond  depended  the  essential  welfare  of 
society  ; marriage,  it  was  his  final  conviction,  wTas 
“ the  beginning  and  the  culmination  of  all  civiliza- 
tion.” 1 Be  it  said  that  Goethe  was  himself  fully 
aware  that  the  book  was  open  to  misconstruction  ; 
it  was  written,  he  told  Knebel,  only  for  such  persons 
as  would  be  likely  to  understand  its  real  import. 
Yet  it  pained  him  when  critics  like  his  friend  Jacobi 
denounced  it  as  a moral  outrage,  and  it  came  as  a 
solace  to  him  when  a woman,  Charlotte  von  Schiller, 
expressed  her  admiration  and  entire  approval  of  the 
work  as  a whole. 

There  has  been  equal  divergence  of  opinion  regard- 
ing Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  as  a work  of  art.  As 
originally  conceived,  it  was  to  have  been  a short  tale 
which  was  to  find  a place  with  the  others  that  subse- 
quently appeared  in  Wilhelm  Meisters  Wander jahre. 
Round  the  original  conception,  however,  as  so  often 
happened  with  Goethe,  especially  in  his  later  years, 
there  grew  up  in  his  mind  other  interests  which 
demanded  a wider  canvas  for  their  adequate  present- 
ment. The  nature  of  these  accretions  has  been 
indicated  in  the  outline  of  the  story  that  has  just 
been  given  ; we  have  detailed  accounts  of  plans  for 
the  beautifying  of  Eduard’s  estate,  minute  records 
of  the  family  life,  and  abstract  discussions  on  the 
most  miscellaneous  topics.  Most  singular  of  all  the 
interpolations  in  the  narrative  are  what  profess  to  be 
extracts  from  a diary  kept  by  Ottilie,  which  have 
been  generally  condemned  as  a strange  aberration 

1 To  Chancellor  von  Muller  he  oalled  marriage  a “ victory  for  civiliza- 
tion,’’ gained  by  Christianity,  which  should  at  no  price  be  given  up. 


CRITICAL  ESTIMATE  567 

from  all  artistic  propriety.  In  themselves  these 
extracts  are  excrescences  on  the  narrative,  but  to 
have  assigned  such  profound  reflections  on  life  and 
its  varied  interests  to  a girl  just  escaped  from  school, 
strikingly  illustrates  how,  with  advancing  years,  the 
thinker  in  Goethe  came  to  dominate  the  artist.  We 
naturally  recall  Werther  as  also  a tale  of  passion,  and 
contrast  it  with  the  work  of  Goethe’s  ripest  maturity. 
The  difference  between  them  is  that  in  Werther  Goethe 
is  possessed  by  his  subject,  and  that  in  Die  Wahlver- 
wandtschaften he  possesses  it.  Werther  proceeded, 
as  it  were,  from  a single  j et  and  the  result  is  a whole 
fused  in  all  its  parts.  In  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften 
there  is  no  such  complete  fusion ; for  example,  the 
landscapes  in  Werther  are  felt  to  be  compact  with  the 
emotional  experience  of  its  leading  character,  while 
in  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  they  affect  us  as  mere 
digressions  from  the  narrative.  So  it  is,  remarks 
one  of  Goethe’s  latest  German  biographers,  that  Die 
- Wahlverwandtschaften  “ is  one  of  those  of  Goethe’s 
works,  not  few  in  number,  which  the  maj  ority  even  of 
his  admirers  have  only  read  once.”  The  uniform  obj  ec- 
tivity  of  treatment,  too,  is  apt  to  leave  the  reader 
cold,  and  the  lack  of  concentration  in  the  narrative 
wearies  him.  Nor  are  the  characters,  with  the 
exception  of  Ottilie,  of  sufficient  interest  to  com- 
pensate for  the  slow  movement  of  the  action  ; seen 
mainly  under  the  domination  of  a single  passion, 
we  do  not  find  in  them  the  free  play  of  life  which  we 
look  for  in  living  personalities.  It  is  to  the  character 
of  Ottilie  that  Goethe  has  devoted  his  most  searching- 
analysis,  and,  such  as  she  was,  she  is  depicted  with 
equal  delicacy  and  subtlety.  She  is  akin  to  Mignon 
in  Wilhelm  Meister,  but  her  merely  passive  tempera- 
ment does  not  waken  the  interest  or  create  the  charm 
of  Mignon’ s iridescent  being.  The  other  characters 
in  the  romance,  apart  from  the  leading  four,  appear 
so  intermittently  and  briefly  that  they  pass  out  of 
our  minds  as  the  tale  proceeds,  and  seem  to  be  there 
only  because  they  were  necessary  for  its  prolongation. 


568  DIE  WAHLVER WANDTSCHAFTEN 

Devoid  though  the  book  is  of  the  commoner 
qualities  that  attract  in  fiction,  it  contains  two 
elements  which  further  tend  to  repel  the  ordinary 
reader.  The  continual  references  to  occult  influences 
leave  us  with  a feeling  of  something  fantastic  and 
unreal,  of  an  abnormal  world  in  which  the  drama  is 
being  enacted.  Moreover,  it  has  to  be  added — and 
this  is,  perhaps,  the  chief  reason  for  the  aversion  with 
which  the  book  is  generally  regarded— the  situation 
it  brings  before  us  is  in  itself  so  painful  that  we  can 
hardly  have  the  desire  to  renew  our  acquaintance 
with  it.  Such  are  the  impressions  left  on  the  minds 
of  the  majority  of  readers.  Yet  to  take  them  as 
suggesting  a final  judgment  would  be  manifestly 
unjust.  It  is  the  work  of  Goethe  in  his  ripest  time, 
and  a work  deeply  felt  and  deeply  meditated,  which 
is  to  say  that  we  look  to  find  in  it  deeps  of  thought 
and  insight  that  mark  it  as  coming  from  the  hand  of 
the  master.  It  is  with  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  as 
with  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre : we  read  it  not  for  the 
interest  of  the  tale  nor  even  for  the  special  problems 
it  raises,  but  for  the  helpfulness  of  its  wisdom  in  the 
conduct  of  fife. 

Apart  from  its  quality  as  a work  of  literature, 
Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  possesses  another  interest. 
We  have  seen  how  susceptible  Goethe  was  at  every 
period  of  his  life  to  the  prevailing  intellectual 
influences  around  him,  and  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften 
is  another  illustration  of  this  susceptibility.  In  con- 
ception and  treatment  it  is  directly  inspired  by  the 
Romantic  school.  The  very  choice  of  its  theme 
indicates  Romantic  influence,  for  marriage,  which 
the  school  generally  regarded  as  a cramping  con- 
vention, was  one  of  their  favourite  topics.  It  is  a 
fate-drama,  evidently  influenced  by  the  plays  of 
the  young  Romantic,  Zacharias  Werner,  whom  we 
have  seen  associated  with  Goethe — plays  which  had 
found  wide  acceptance  with  the  German  public. 
The  occultism  in  Goethe’s  work,  also,  is  entirely  in 
the  vein  of  Romanticism.  But  most  surprising  of 


569 


ITS  RECEPTION 

all  his  concessions  to  the  new  school,  as  has  been 
already  said,  is  his  adoption  of  a neo-Catholic  drapery 
at  the  close.  The  neo-Catholicism  of  the  Romantics 
was  the  part  of  their  creed  most  detestable  in  Goethe’s 
eyes  ; yet  here  he  is  reproducing  what  he  stigmatized 
as  their  pseudo-sentiment,  and  the  natural  result  is  to 
leave  the  reader  with  a sense  of  something  forced  and 
■ artificial  as  coming  from  Goethe’s  hand.  In  one  im- 
portant respect,  however,  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  is 
distinguished  from  the  work  of  the  Romantics  ; it  is 
controlled  by  a spirit  of  sanity,  the  absence  of  which 
is  a marked  characteristic  of  the  generality  of  their 
productions. 

The  work  had  a mingled  reception  on  its  appear- 
ance. Men  like  W.  von  Humboldt  and  Schelling,1 
who  held  free  opinions  on  marriage,  admired  it ; and 
the  Romantics  hailed  it  with  delight,  both  for  its 
tendency  and  for  its  manifest  imitation  of  their 
own  methods.  On  the  other  hand,  Fritz  Jacobi  was 
horror-stricken  at  its  implications  : “ What  entirely 
revolts  me,”  he  wrote,  “ is  the  apparent  change  of 
sensuality  into  spirituality  at  the  conclusion ; one 
may  say,  the  passage  to  Heaven  of  vile  lust.”  Even 
Knebel  and  Wieland,  neither  of  whom  was  squeamish 
in  his  views  of  the  relations  of  the  sexes,  regarded  the 
book  as  a mistake ; and  generally  its  reception  was 
such  as  to  bring  home  to  Goethe  that  he  was  out  of 
sympathy  with  the  majority  of  his  countrymen. 
It  was  no  new  experience  for  him,  as  we  know,  yet 
it  could  not  but  intensify  the  sense  of  isolation  which 
he  had  felt  with  increasing  keenness  since  Schiller’s 
death. 

1 Humboldt  held  that  “ marriage  was  no  bond  of  souls  ” ; for  Schelling 
it  was  a mere  convention. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


GOETHE  AND  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION — DES 
EPIMEN1DES  ER  W AC  HEN 

1810—1814 

The  years  1810-14  were  among  the  most  depressing 
of  Goethe’s  life,  and  there  were  special  reasons 
for  their  being  so.  During  these  years  his  health 
was  so  precarious  that  it  was  a frequent  cause  of 
anxiety  to  his  friends,  and  it  was  a bitter  disappoint- 
ment to  him  that  the  work  on  which  he  had  expended 
more  care  and  labour  than  on  any  other,  his  Farben- 
lehre,  was  on  its  publication  (1810)  chillingly  received 
by  the  majority  of  contemporary  men  of  science. 
Though  by  personal  contact  or  correspondence  he 
was  in  communication  with  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  the  day,  there  was  no  one  with 
whom  he  could  hold  intercourse  on  terms  of  intellec- 
tual equality,  sure  of  a sympathetic  response. 
Moreover,  the  character  of  the  time  isolated  him  not 
only  from  elect  individuals  but  also  from  his  nation 
in  general.  He  was  just  as  much  out  of  sympathy 
with  the  prevailing  tendencies  in  politics  and 
literature.  In  politics  the  period  saw  the  German 
people  rise  against  the  French  invader  in  their  War 
of  Liberation,  drive  him  from  their  territory,  and 
achieve  their  emancipation  from  a foreign  yoke. 
But  Goethe  regarded  this  triumphant  national  effort 
with  coldness  and  suspicion,  as  he  saw  in  its  result 
no  certain  prospect  of  a settled  state  which  would 
ensure  the  quiet  development  of  the  best  elements 
in  the  nation.  The  prevailing  tendencies  in  literature 

570 


THE  FARBENLEHRE 


571 


were  no  less  repugnant  to  him.  With  growing 
indignation  he  watched  Romanticism  conquering  the 
•public  taste  and  thus  undoing  all  the  work  that  had 
been  accomplished  by  Schiller  and  himself  in  their 
endeavour  to  restore  Greek  ideals.1  References  by 
himself  and  others  to  his  mental  condition  during 
these  years  are  a remarkable  commentary  on  the 
current  conception  of  him  as  one  superior  to  all  the 
weaknesses  that  worry  the  lives  of  ordinary  mortals. 
From  Jena  he  thus  wrote  to  the  widow  of  Schiller : 
“ I find  it  most  necessary  to  shake  off  certain  hypo- 
chondriacal influences.  Just  imagine  that  for  some 
time  I have  enjoyed  nothing  better  than  writing 
poems  that  are  not  fit  to  read  aloud.  Looked  at 
properly,  this  is  a pathological  condition  which 
should  be  got  rid  of  the  sooner  the  better.”  2 

Goethe’s  manner  of  life  during  the  period  now 
before  us  was  that  of  the  years  immediately  preceding. 
The  greater  part  of  his  time  he  spent  in  Weimar,  busy 
with  his  own  literary  and  scientific  pursuits,  actively 
interested  in  the  theatre,  receiving  and  paying  visits, 
and  occasionally  attending  the  Court.  When  spring 
came,  he  set  out  on  his  travels,  mainly  on  account  of 
his  health  but  partly,  also,  for  pleasure  and  instruc- 
tion. These  prolonged  absences  from  Weimar, 
however,  were  not  seasons  of  idleness ; on  the 
contrary,  it  was  at  such  places  as  Jena  and  Carlsbad 
that  he  was  freest  to  execute  his  various  tasks. 

Goethe  calls  the  year  1810  one  of  the  important 
years  of  his  life,  and  he  had  occasion  to  remember  it 
specially,  as  it  witnessed  his  relief  from  a heavy 
burden  which  he  had  borne  for  twenty  years.  During 
the  first  months  of  1810  he  saw  through  the  press 
his  Farbenlehre,  the  work  which  he  considered  the 
greatest  achievement  of  his  life,  deliberately  placing 


1 Driving  one  day  in  his  coach  with  a companion,  he  denounced  the 
Romantics  in  such  loud  and  violent  tones  that  the  coachman  turned  round 
to  look  at  him. 

2 April  27,  1810.  About  the  same  time  Frau  von  Stein  wrote : “ I 
fear  that  our  friend  is  becoming  a hypochondriac.” 


572  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

it  above  Faust  as  a product  of  bis  genius.  It  appeared 
at  the  end  of  May  in  two  volumes,  consisting  of  three 
parts,  didactic,  polemic  and  historical.  We  have 
seen  under  what  circumstances  the  work  originated.1 
A hasty  experiment  made  in  May,  1791,  convinced 
him  that  the  Newtonian  theory  of  light  was  founded 
on  an  initial  error,  and  thenceforward  the  subj  ect  had 
engrossed  his  thoughts  and  entailed  an  amount  of 
toil  beyond  every  other.  At  home  and  on  his  travels 
it  was  ever  present  to  his  mind,  and,  if  he  could  get 
a sympathetic  and  intelligent  hearer,  there  was  no 
theme  on  which  he  would  more  eagerly  enlarge  ; in 
Schiller  he  had  found  such  a listener,  and  in  their 
correspondence  his  optical  experiments  fill  a con- 
siderable space.  He  had  been  prepared,  he  tells  us, 
for  a cool  reception  of  the  work,  but  not  for  the 
complete  lack  of  sympathy  which  it  actually  met 
with.  From  its  first  appearance,  indeed,  specialists 
almost  with  one  accord  rejected  its  explanation  of 
the  nature  of  light  and  continued  to  regard  Goethe 
as  un  hardi  ignorant.  Far  from  being  convinced  of 
his  error,  however,  he  believed  to  the  end  that  his 
treatment  by  the  men  of  science  was  only  another 
illustration  of  the  blind  bigotry  which  had  always 
characterized  them  as  a class.  That  he  was  em- 
bittered and  depressed  by  the  reception  of  the  work 
to  which  he  had  for  so  many  years  given  his  whole 
heart  and  mind,  his  own  frequent  utterances  prove  ; 
to  the  close  of  his  life  he  expressed  himself  against 
Newton  and  Newtonians  in  terms  that  would  startle 
us  did  we  not  remember  the  violence  of  rage  of  which 
he  was  always  capable.  There  is  both  a pathos  and 
an  irony  in  the  fact  that  a mind  like  Goethe’s  should 
have  given  the  best  years  of  his  life  to  the  pursuit 
of  an  illusion ; yet  if  the  main  thesis  of  the  Farben- 
lehre  is  mistaken,  the  work  remains  an  extraordinary 
memorial  of  his  capacity  for  toil  and  of  the  range  of 
his  powers.  And  the  historical  part  of  the  book  will 
always  retain  an  interest  for  philosophical  readers. 

1 See  above,  p.  408. 


CARLSBAD  ONCE  MORE 


573 


As  has  already  been  remarked,  we  have  here  Goethe 
as  an  intellectual  equal  judging  the  thinkers  of  the 
past  who  have  made  the  greatest  contributions  to 
human  progress. 

On  May  16,  “ the  day  of  his  emancipation,”  1 2 
as  he  calls  it,  Goethe  set  out  for  his  customary  sojourn 
in  Bohemia.  For  nearly  five  months  he  was  on  his 
travels,  spending  the  time  successively  in  Jena, 
Carlsbad,  Teplitz,  Dresden  and  Freiburg.  Two 
personal  acquaintanceships  which  he  made  on  his 
travels  he  specially  valued.  In  Carlsbad  he  met  the 
young  and  newly-married  Empress  of  Austria,  to 
whose  personal  charm  and  accomplishments  he  pays 
a deserved  tribute,  and  by  whose  gracious  con- 
descension to  himself  he  was  thoroughly  captivated. 3 
He  was  to  meet  her  twice  again,  and  she  was  to 
remain  in  his  memory  as  one  of  the  delightful  visions 
that  had  crossed  his  path.  The  other  acquaintance- 
ship was  also  with  an  exalted  personage,  namely, 
Louis,  King  of  Holland,  Napoleon’s  brother,  with 
whom  he  shared  the  same  boarding-house  in  Teplitz. 
He  had  met  the  great  Napoleon  two  years  before,  and 
the  contrast  between  the  characters  of  the  two  could 
not  but  impress  him.  In  Louis  he  found  one  of  the 
finest  of  souls,  at  once  profoundly  spiritual  and 
profoundly  human,  and  he  has  depicted  him  in  one 
of  those  subtle  character-sketches  in  which  he  is 
perhaps  unsurpassed. 

In  the  beginning  of  October  Goethe  was  back  in 
Weimar,  and  a few  weeks  later  he  undertook  a task 
which  was  to  engage  him  for  the  next  five  months. 
In  following  the  life  of  Goethe  we  are  struck  by  the 
fact  that  he  not  infrequently  expended  a measure  of 
toil  on  subjects  which  were  hardly  worthy  of  it. 
Such  was  the  work  which  now  occupied  him.  We 
have  seen  how,  when  in  Italy,  he  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  artist  Philipp  Hackert,  to  whose 

1 From  the  Farbenlehre. 

2 At  the  request  of  the  citizens  of  Carlsbad  Goethe  addressed  three 

poems  to  her. 


574  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

instruction  in  landscape  painting  he  acknowledged 
a special  debt.  Hackert  died  in  1808,  and  left 
materials  for  an  autobiography  which  in  his  will  he 
desired  to  be  put  into  Goethe’s  hands  to  be  prepared 
for  publication.  Goethe  had  a high  regard  for 
Hackert’s  personal  character,  which  had  been  tried 
under  peculiarly  difficult  conditions,  and  he  esteemed 
him  as  an  artist  with  an  individuality  of  his  own.  As 
it  was,  however,  the  life  of  Hackert,  which  Goethe 
gave  to  the  world  from  the  materials  supplied  to 
him,  is  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  importance  of  its 
subject,  and  is  virtually  negligible.  Since,  however, 
Goethe  tells  us  that  the  preparation  of  Hackert’s 
autobiography  suggested  the  writing  of  his  own, 
which  he  actually  began  while  engaged  on  Hackert’s,1 
even  this  labour  was  not  without  fruitful  result. 

In  May,  1811,  Goethe  saw  much  of  a visitor  who 
had  come  to  him  on  a special  mission,  Sulpiz  Boisseree, 
one  of  two  brothers  who  had  inherited  a prosperous 
mercantile  business  in  Cologne.  Both  brothers  were 
Roman  Catholics,  and  both,  especially  Sulpiz,  were 
enthusiastic  students  of  Gothic  art.  With  abundant 
means  at  their  disposal  they  had  obtained  numerous 
engravings  of  Cologne  Cathedral  with  the  object  of 
creating  a general  interest  in  the  mediaeval  art  of 
Germany  and  the  Low  Countries.  It  was  their 
ambition  to  enlist  Goethe’s  sympathies  in  their  task, 
as  his  support  would  go  far  to  ensure  its  success. 
Sulpiz  had  procured  an  introduction  to  Goethe  from 
Count  Reinhard,  and  he  had  come  to  Weimar  with 
the  express  intention  of  showing  him  his  treasures. 
From  his  own  account  of  their  successive  interviews, 
Goethe’s  first  reception  of  him  was  not  encouraging  ; 
the  enthusiasm  for  mediaeval  art  seemed  to  the  poet 
only  another  manifestation  of  that  Romanticism 
which  was  disastrously  misleading  the  public  taste. 
In  their  successive  meetings,  however,  Boisseree 
flattered  himself  that  Goethe  graduall}7  became 

1 He  began  it  on  January  29,  1811,  and  worked  at  it  so  continuously 
that  he  completed  three  volumes  in  three  successive  years. 


575 


SULPIZ  BOISSEREE 

interested  in  the  illustrations  of  the  Gothic  which  he 
had  shown  him,  and  he  left  him  under  the  impression 
that  he  had  made  him  a partial  convert.  As  will 
afterwards  appear,  he  had  succeeded  in  impressing 
on  Goethe  that  there  were  excellences  in  mediaeval 
art  which  he  had  not  hitherto  sufficiently  appreciated, 
though  to  the  end  it  was  the  art  of  Greece  that  he 
regarded  as  the  supreme  ideal  after  which  humanity 
should  continue  to  aspire.1 

Boisseree  left  Weimar  on  May  11,  and  on  the 
same  day  Goethe  started  for  his  usual  summer 
quarters  at  Carlsbad,  accompanied  on  this  occasion 
by  Christiane.  His  travels  were  not  extensive  this 
year,  as,  after  about  six  weeks’  stay  in  Carlsbad, 
mainly  devoted  to  his  Autobiography,  he  returned  to 
Weimar.  Writing  on  July  14,  Frau  Schiller  gives 
this  account  of  his  state  of  mind  at  that  time.  “ He 
is  not  at  peace  with  the  world,  it  seems,  and  he  says 
that  he  would  like  to  become  an  Indian  hermit.” 
One  unpleasant  experience,  which  touched  his 
deepest  thoughts  and  feelings,  he  has  himself 
specially  emphasized.  From  his  friend  Fritz  Jacobi 
he  received  a presentation  copy  of  a book,  entitled 
Von  den  gottlichen  Dingen  und  Hirer  Offenbarung,  of 
which  the  main  thesis  is  that  Nature  conceals  God. 
In  Goethe’s  view  this  was  rank  impiety  ; for  him, 
as  he  expressed  it  to  Knebel,  “ mind  and  matter, 
soul  and  body,  thought  and  extension,  or  (as  a recent 
French  writer  clearly  puts  it)  will  and  motion  were, 
are,  and  always  will  be  the  necessary  double  in- 
gredients of  the  universe.”  To  Jacobi  himself  he 
frankly  stated  how  repellent  was  his  conception  of 
nature,  and  in  a letter  to  Jacobi  in  this  connection 
there  occurs  one  of  Goethe’s  most  familiar  utterances. 
“ For  my  part,”  he  wrote,  “ in  view  of  the  manifold 
sides  of  my  nature,  I cannot  find  satisfaction  in  one 
mode  of  thinking  ; as  poet  and  artist,  I am  a poly- 
theist ; as  a man  of  science,  on  the  other  hand,  I 

1 Boisseree  proposed  to  revisit  Weimar  in  the  following  autumn,  but 
it  is  significant  that  Goethe  put  him  off. 


576  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

am  a pantheist ; and  I am  the  one  j nst  as  decidedly 
as  I am  the  other.  If,  as  an  ordinary  human  being, 
I need  a God  for  my  personality,  that,  too,  is  provided 
for.  Heaven  and  earth  form  a kingdom  so  wide 
that  its  mere  comprehension  needs  the  organs  of  all 
existences  working  together.”  1 Irritated  and  de- 
pressed by  Jacobi’s  book,  Goethe  betook  himself  to 
what  he  calls  his  “ old  refuge  ” ; for  weeks,  he  says, 
Spinoza’s  Ethic  was  his  stay  and  comfort.2 

The  great  world-event  of  1812  was  Napoleon’s 
invasion  of  Russia  which,  though  it  did  not  interrupt 
the  usual  tenor  of  Goethe’s  life,  deeply  depressed  him. 
As  the  result  of  Napoleon’s  marriage  with  Marie 
Louise,  the  daughter  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  in 
1810,  he  had  hoped  for  a permanent  European  peace, 
indifferent  whether  or  not  it  was  secured  at  the 
expense  of  German  unity.  The  greater  part  of  the 
year  he  spent  away  from  Weimar,  mainly  at  Carlsbad 
and  Teplitz,  diligently  continuing  his  Autobiography. 
In  Carlsbad  he  met  the  Emperor  of  Austria  and  his 
daughter,  the  French  Empress,  but  apparent^  they 
held  themselves  aloof  from  him.  It  was  otherwise 
with  the  Austrian  Empress  whom  he  again  met  at 
Teplitz,  and  found,  as  he  told  Christiane,  more 
charming  and  gracious  than  ever.  At  Teplitz,  and 
subsequently  at  Carlsbad  also,  he  had  Beethoven  as  a 
fellow- visitor.  They  had  previously  had  communica- 
tions with  each  other,  and  Beethoven  had  expressed 
his  reverent  admiration  of  Goethe’s  genius,  which  he 
had  testified  to  by  setting  Egmont  to  music.  But 
their  intercourse  proved  that  their  natures  were 
incompatible.  In  a letter  to  Bettina  von  Arnim, 
Beethoven  relates  the  well-known  incident  in  which 
he  implies  that  he  showed  to  advantage  in  com- 
parison with  Goethe.  Walking  together  one  day 
at  Teplitz,  they  met  the  Empress  and  her  suite. 
Goethe,  on  their  approach,  stood  aside  and  made  a 

1 January  6,  1813. 

* About  the  same  time  he  re-read  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  with  “ innocent 
pleasure.” 


BEETHOVEN  577 

courtly  obeisance,  but  Beethoven  walked  through 
the  crowd,  at  the  same  time  pressing  down  his  hat 
and  buttoning  his  great  coat.  They  never  met  again, 
though  Beethoven  continued  to  retain  his  admiration 
and  good  feeling  for  Goethe  till  1813,  when  Goethe’s 
failure  to  answer  a letter  from  him  permanently 
alienated  them. 1 

In  September  Goethe  was  back  in  Weimar,  and 
he  spent  the  remainder  of  the  year  partly  there  and 
partly  in  Jena.  October,  November  and  December 
saw  Napoleon’s  disastrous  retreat  from  Russia,  and 
Goethe  noted  in  his  Diary  its  successive  incidents. 
“ That  Moscow  is  burnt  does  not  matter  to  me,”  he 
wrote  to  Reinhard,  but,  as  the  context  shows,  the 
words  were  written  not  in  callousness  but  in  a mood  of 
hopelessness  regarding  the  world’s  future.2  It  must 
have  gratified  him,  however,  that  his  demigod 
Napoleon,  in  his  flight  from  Russia,  made  inquiries 
after  him  as  he  passed  through  Weimar,  and  sent  a 
direct  greeting  to  him  from  Erfurt.  But  Goethe’s 
settled  mood,  as  the  year  closed,  wTas  such  as  to 
give  concern  to  his  friends.  “ Our  only  comfort, 
our  honoured  friend  and  master,”  wrote  Luise 
Siedler,  a young  artist  in  whom  he  was  specially 
interested,  “ is  now  always  in  such  a weak  state  of 
health  and  so  cast  down  by  the  general  course  of 
events,  that  my  last  stay  with  him  made  me  as  often 
anxious  and  distressed  as  happy.”  3 

Gloomier  still  for  Goethe  were  the  events  of  the 
following  year  (1813),  and  they  touched  his  own 
personal  life  more  directly.  It  was  the  year  of 
Germany’s  second  and  triumphant  effort  to  free 
herself  from  French  domination,  a result  which  did 
not  fill  Goethe  with  the  sanguine  hopes  entertained 
by  the  maj  ority  of  his  countrymen.  The  year  began 

1 In  a letter  to  Zelter  Goethe  speaks  of  Beethoven’s  “ ganz  unge» 
bandigter  Personlichkeit.” 

2 In  his  poem,  Der  Winter  und  Timur,  in  the  W est-ostlicher  Divan, 
Goethe  has  given  a wonderful  description  of  Napoleon’s  Russian  campaign. 

3 At  this  time  Goethe  devoted  his  leisure  to  the  writings  of  Giordano 
Bruno,  but  found  it  impossible  to  separate  the  gold  from  the  dross  in  them. 

VOL.  II.  N 


578  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

for  him  with  a severe  personal  loss  ; on  January  20, 
Wieland  died.  There  had  never  been  the  closest  of 
intellectual  bonds  between  them,  nor  even  the 
warmest  relations  of  friendship.  The  lack  of  intellec- 
tual seriousness  which  Goethe  early  noted  in  Wieland, 
made  impossible  between  them  the  deeper  com- 
munings  of  mind  with  mind  or  heart  with  heart. 
Yet,  with  occasional  brief  misunderstandings,  they 
had  been  much  to  each  other.  On  Goethe’s  first 
arrival  in  Weimar,  Wieland  had  received  him  with 
enthusiasm,  and  he  had  stood  by  him  in  those  early 
years  when  his  association  with  the  Duke  gave 
occasion  to  unfounded  scandal.  After  Goethe’s 
return  from  Italy  with  his  changed  ideals  in  art  and 
literature,  their  intercourse  had  been  less  close,  but 
there  had  been  no  diminution  of  good  feeling  between 
them.  Writing  to  W.  von  Humboldt  a few  weeks 
after  Wieland’s  death,  he  has  this  reference,  and  the 
opening  sentence  betrays  his  own  mood  at  the  time 
when  he  wrote  it : “ Blessed  in  the  deepest  sense  is 
now  our  Wieland  ; he  has  fallen  asleep  in  his  Lord, 
and,  without  special  suffering,  has  passed  to  his  gods 
and  his  heroes.  Utile  nobis  proposuit  exemplar , 
what  may  be  achieved  by  intellect  and  material 
gifts,  study,  knowledge  of  human  nature,  sensibility, 
versatility,  when  conjoined  with  diligence  and  per- 
sistence. If  every  one  would  make  such  good  use  of 
his  gifts  and  his  time,  what  miracles  would  happen  ! ” 
Hostilities  began  in  spring  and  occupied  two 
distinct  campaigns.  In  the  first,  which  was  ended 
on  June  4 by  the  armistice  of  Poischwitz,  Napoleon 
had  only  to  fight  the  Russians  and  Prussians,  whom 
he  defeated  at  Lutzen  and  Bautzen.  When  the  war 
opened,  the  French  were  in  possession  of  Weimar, 
but  in  April  the  garrison  was  captured  by  a combined 
body  of  Russians  and  Prussians.  On  the  17th, 
shortly  before  the  attack,  Goethe  had  left  the  town, 
taking  with  him  some  of  his  most  valuable  possessions 
and  burying  others.  His  destination  was  Teplitz, 
which  was  for  the  time  out  of  the  war  zone,  but  on  the 


579 


ITS  VICISSITUDES 

way  lie  spent  a few  days  at  Dresden,  which  was  now 
swarming  with  Russian  and  Prussian  soldiery  and 
where  he  saw  the  entry  of  the  King  of  Prussia  and 
the  Czar  of  Russia.  With  what  eyes  he  beheld  the 
uprising  against  the  might  of  Napoleon  is  told  by  the 
leading  patriotic  singer  of  the  War  of  Liberation, 
Moritz  Arndt,  who  met  him  at  the  house  of  his  old 
friend  Korner,  and  who  describes  him  as  of  the  same 
stately  beauty  as  when  he  saw  him  twenty  years 
before,  but  in  a condition  of  mind  that  did  not 
gladden  his  friends.  “ He  was  much  depressed, 
and  he  had  neither  hope  nor  joy  in  the  changed 
aspect  of  affairs.”  When  Korner  and  his  son 
spoke  enthusiastically  of  the  hope  of  Germany’s 
liberation,  he  burst  forth  : “ Shake  your  chains. 
The  man  is  too  great  for  you.  You  will  not  break 
them.”  1 

After  six  days  spent  at  Dresden,  Goethe  pro- 
ceeded to  Teplitz,  where  he  remained  for  three 
months,  mainly  engaged  on  his  Autobiography. 
On  August  10  he  returned  to  Dresden,  where  a 
different  scene  awaited  him.2  The  second  campaign 
opened  in  August,  when  Napoleon  had  to  fight 
Austria,  Russia,  and  Prussia  combined,  and  Goethe 
found  Dresden  occupied  by  the  French.  While 
there,  he  witnessed  a spectacle  which  must  have 
confirmed  him  in  his  doubts  as  to  the  possibility  of  a 
united  Germany.  Three  months  earlier  he  had  seen 
the  citizens  of  Dresden  hail  with  acclamation  the 
entry  of  the  Czar  of  Russia  and  the  King  of  Prussia 
into  their  city  ; now  he  saw  the  birthday  of  Napoleon 
celebrated  by  a general  illumination  and  a procession 
of  the  city  maidens,  all  clad  in  white  in  honour  of  the 
occasion. 

On  August  19,  he  was  back  in  Weimar,  whence, 
a week  later,  he  went  in  company  with  the  Duke  to 

1 Later  in  the  same  year  (August)  Goethe  bet  a gold  ducat  that  the  war 
would  not  be  transferred  to  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine.  He  lost  his  ducat 
and  paid  it. 

2 The  armistice  ended  at  midnight,  August  10-11. 


580  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

the  village  of  Ilmenau  in  the  Thuringian  Forest. 
All  his  life  he  had  sought  refreshment  and  repose  in 
the  solitude  of  Ilmenau,  and  at  this  moment,  when 
the  world  around  him  seemed  to  be  in  a welter  of 
hopeless  and  meaningless  strife,  its  seclusion  was 
specially  restorative.  From  the  letters  he  wrote  to 
Christiane  from  Ilmenau  we  gather  that  the  week  he 
spent  there  was  an  interlude  of  such  lightness  of 
heart  as  had  long  been  infrequent  with  him.  About 
this  time,  too,  his  relations  to  Christiane  seem  to 
have  assumed  a special  tenderness.  As  he  regarded 
their  connection,  this  year  was  the  semi-jubilee  of 
their  union,  and  the  thought  recalled  all  that  she  had 
been  to  him.  “ It  was  sound  advice,”  he  wrote  to 
her,  “ that  directed  me  to  Ilmenau.  That  I was  in 
good  spirits  on  the  way  here,  you  saw  from  the  verses 
I sent  you.  Yesterday  I was  six  hours  on  horseback, 
which  agreed  very  well  with  me.”  The  verses  he 
sent  to  Christiane  were  the  lines  entitled  Gefunden, 
in  which,  with  all  the  lightness  and  grace  of  his  youth- 
ful lyrics,  he  has  idealized  their  relations  in  the  form 
of  a parable  of  the  flower  which  he  transplanted  from 
the  forest  to  his  garden. 

When  Goethe  returned  to  Weimar  in  the  last 
week  of  August,  the  war  was  still  raging  and  the 
world  was  awaiting  its  issue.  He  has  himself  told 
us  how  he  spent  the  time  of  anxious  suspense.  In 
times  of  public  commotion  Plato  says  that  it  is  the 
part  of  the  wise  man  “ to  stand  aside  under  a wall.” 
As  we  know,  this  was  also  Goethe’s  opinion,  and 
he  had  a method  of  his  own  for  escaping  from  the 
turmoil  around  him.  It  was  to  turn  his  thoughts 
to  a region  as  far  remote  as  possible  from  the 
distractions  that  beset  him,  and  on  this  occasion  he 
found  his  escape  in  the  study  of  Chinese  literature 
and  history. 

The  crisis  of  the  war  came  in  October.  On  the 
4th  of  that  month  French  troops  marched  past  and 
through  Weimar,  and  on  the  18th  Napoleon  was 
routed  at  the  battle  of  Leipzig — the  beginning  of  the 


BATTLE  OF  LEIPZIG  581 

end  of  his  career.1  During  the  two  days  that 
followed  the  battle,  Goethe  wrote  to  a correspondent, 
Weimar  experienced  every  degree  of  horror.  Both 
within  the  town  and  outside  it  fighting  took  place 
between  the  fleeing  French  and  the  pursuing  Allies. 
For  a time  it  became  a hospital  for  the  wounded 
soldiery,  and  Goethe  himself  had  to  suffer  from  the 
quartering  of  officers.  He  was  relieved  from  his 
troubles,  however,  by  “ the  presence  and  special 
favour  ” of  Metternich,  who  was  in  Weimar  in  the 
last  days  of  October,  and  showed  Goethe  marked 
attention.  “It  is  certainly  uplifting  both  for  mind 
and  heart,”  he  declares,  “to  be  given  an  insight 
into  the  views  of  such  men  as  he,  who  direct  that 
stupendous  whole,  by  the  smallest  fraction  of  which 
the  rest  of  us  feel  ourselves  oppressed  or,  rather, 
overwhelmed.”  2 

Later  in  the  year  Goethe  had  to  face  a disagreeable 
experience.  In  November  the  Duke  announced  his 
intention  of  raising  a company  of  volunteers,  and 
Goethe’s  son,  August,  was  desirous  of  offering  his 
services.  The  action  which  Goethe  took  is  a 
significant  comment  on  his  attitude  to  the  War  of 
Liberation.  On  the  plea  that  he  was  then  without 
a secretary,  he  begged  the  Duke  to  exempt  August, 
as  being  indispensable  to  him. 3 The  Duke  granted 
his  request,  but  there  was  general  indignation  in 
Weimar  at  Goethe’s  proceeding.  But,  in  truth,  he 
made  no  concealment  of  his  lack  of  sympathy  with 
the  national  movement.  About  the  same  date  there 
was  an  evening  party  at  Frau  Schopenhauer’s,  and 
Goethe  was  one  of  the  guests.  The  Romantic,  de  la 
Motte  Fouque,  was  of  the  company,  and  it  is  he  who 

1 While  the  battle  was  proceeding,  Goethe  wrote  the  couplet — 

Der  Mensch  erfahrt,  er  sei  auch,  wer  er  mag, 

Ein  letztes  Gluck  und  einen  letzten  Tag. 

2 Among  other  distinguished  persons  in  Weimar  at  this  time  were  von 
Hardenberg  and  A,  von  Humboldt. 

3 Riemer  had  left  him  in  1812,  and  his  successor  had  broken  down  in 
health. 


582  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

relates  the  incident.  In  the  course  of  the  evening 
Fouque  recited  two  stanzas  giving  expression  to  the 
national  aspirations,  and,  while  all  the  rest  of  the 
company  warmly  applauded,  Goethe  alone  gave  no 
sign  of  approval. 

Goethe,  however,  was  to  have  a formal  oppor- 
tunity of  publicly  making  known  to  his  countrymen 
how  he  regarded  their  effort  to  achieve  their  national 
liberation.  The  result  of  the  battle  of  Leipzig  was 
the  expulsion  of  the  French  from  Germany,  and  in 
the  opening  months  of  the  ensuing  year  (1815)  the 
invasion  of  France  by  the  Allies  and  the  abdication 
of  Napoleon  followed  (April  11).  In  May  Goethe 
went  to  Berka,  a small  watering-place  on  the  Ilm, 
and  while  there  he  received  from  Iffland,  now 
Director-General  of  the  Royal  Theatre  in  Berlin,  a 
request  which  he  must  have  regarded  with  mingled 
feelings.  Festivities,  Iffland  wrote,  were  in  course  of 
preparation  for  the  reception  of  the  allied  sovereigns 
on  their  return  to  Berlin.  Would  Goethe  write  some 
kind  of  theatrical  piece  which  would  serve  as  a 
general  introduction  ? The  appeal  was  flattering, 
as  it  implied  that  the  nation  looked  to  him  as  the 
representative  spokesman  of  its  aspirations,  but  he 
at  first  refused  on  the  ground  that  he  had  another 
theatrical  piece  in  hand,  and  that  a month  (the  time 
within  which  Iffland  desired  his  contribution)  was 
insufficient  for  the  production  of  a satisfactory  work. 
A few  days  later  he  changed  his  mind  and  wrote  to 
Iffland  that  an  idea  had  occurred  to  him  which,  if 
successfully  developed,  he  thought  would  be  worthy 
of  the  occasion.  At  the  same  time  he  thanked  him 
for  giving  him  the  opportunity  of  expressing  to  the 
German  nation  how  he  had  felt  and  sympathized 
with  its  j oys  and  sorrows. 

We  have  seen  how  little  Goethe  was  entitled  to 
be  the  voice  of  the  German  nation  in  the  struggle 
through  which  it  had  passed.  He  had  not  shared 
the  national  feelings  regarding  the  French  domina- 
tion ; and  he  had  been  quite  prepared  to  accept  it, 


GOETHE  AND  PRUSSIA  583 

if  it  ensured  a stable  government  and  permanent 
peace.  And,  in  point  of  fact,  be  believed  that  the 
people  had  been  better  governed  under  the  Con- 
federation of  the  Rhine  than  under  previous  con- 
ditions. Neither  did  he  share  the  national  hopes  of 
a united  Germany,  for  it  was  his  fixed  conviction 
that  the  German  people  were  naturally  incapable  of 
united  effort  in  any  cause.  “ To  hold  themselves 
apart  from  each  other,”  he  wrote  to  Knebel,  “ is  the 
peculiarity  of  the  Germans  ; I have  never  seen  them 
united  except  in  hatred  of  Napoleon.  We  shall  see 
what  they  will  do  when  he  is  driven  across  the 
Rhine.”  1 When  the  uprising  took  place,  therefore, 
he  was  convinced  that  it  was  in  any  event  a mistake. 
Should  it  prove  unsuccessful,  as  he  confidently 
expected,  the  second  state  of  Germany  under  the 
French  would  be  worse  than  the  first.  On  the  other 
hand,  should  Napoleon  be  vanquished,  there  was 
every  reason  to  dread  a blacker  future  for  the  nation. 
Prussia  had  played  the  leading  part  in  the  revolt 
against  him,  and  in  all  likelihood  Prussia  would 
attain  ascendancy  over  the  other  German  states  and 
impose  its  methods  and  ideals  universally.  Such  a 
contingency  Goethe  regarded  with  dismay.  From 
his  youth  Prussia  and  all  its  ways  had  been  repellent 
to  him.  In  Berlin  his  work  had  been  consistently 
disparaged ; the  great  Frederick  had  mocked  at  his 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen , and  the  Berlin  publisher 
Nicolai,  the  representative  of  obscurantism  in  litera- 
ture and  philosophy,  had  made  it  his  express  object 
to  discredit  him  with  the  German  public.  We  have 
seen  that  the  one  visit  which  Goethe  paid  to  the 
city  (1778)  had  intensified  his  dislike  of  the  Prussian 
character  and  Prussian  methods,  and  that  in  his 
satirical  play  Die  Vogel  he  had  ridiculed  Frederick’s 
rule,  and  spoken  of  the  Black  Eagle  as  fitly  typifying 
Prussian  arrogance  and  truculence.  In  recent  years, 
too,  he  had  had  personal  experience  of  the  Prussian 

1 Other  distinguished  persons,  such  as  Hardenberg  and  Metternich, 
considered  a united  Germany  to  be  a fond  imagination. 


584  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

military  officer,  and  he  saw  in  him  a type  which 
revolted  his  deepest  instincts.1  Such  being  his  con- 
ception of  Prussia  and  her  characteristics,  the  prospect 
of  her  ascendancy  in  Germany  could  not  inspire  him 
with  sanguine  hopes  of  a future  condition  of  things 
favourable  to  the  ideals  which  he  himself  cherished. 
And  Prussia’s  two  allies,  Russia  and  Austria,  he  also 
regarded  with  suspicion  and  apprehension,  as  he  was 
convinced  that  it  was  in  the  line  of  their  policy  to 
make  use  of  Germany  in  their  own  interests.  It  will 
be  seen,  therefore,  that  when  he  undertook  to  produce 
a congratulatory  Festspiel  on  the  return  of  the  three 
potentates  after  their  triumph  over  Napoleon,  he  was 
not  likely  to  be  deeply  inspired. 

Regarded  as  the  expression  of  a nation’s  triumph 
and  a nation’s  hopes,  Des  Epimenides  Erwachen  is 
certainly  a singular  performance.  It  is  a piece  of 
pure  symbolism  throughout,  and  its  shadowy  figures, 
no  less  than  the  generalities  they  utter,  remove  it 
from  the  sphere  of  human  feeling.  According  to  the 
Greek  myth,  Epimenides  was  plunged  in  a deep  sleep 
by  the  gods,  and  when  he  awoke  after  forty  years  he 
was  regarded  by  the  surrounding  peoples  as  endowed 
with  heavenly  wisdom.  When  he  appears  in  Goethe’s 
play,  he  has  awakened  from  his  slumber,  but  is  put 
to  sleep  again  by  genii  that  he  may  escape  coming 
calamities  and  attain  to  knowledge  of  the  future. 
During  his  sleep  the  stupendous  events  that  ensued 
are  brought  before  the  audience  by  a succession  of 
tableaux  suggestive  of  the  titanic  conflict,  and  by 
symbolical  figures  representing  the  interests  and 
passions  that  were  distracting  the  world.  We  have 
an  army,  clad  in  the  dresses  of  different  peoples,  on  the 
march  against  the  enemy,  and  returning  triumphant 
from  its  campaign ; the  Demon  of  War,  Demons  of 
Craft,  and  the  Demon  of  Oppression ; Faith,  Love, 
Hope,  Unity,  and  other  beings  typifying  the  various 

1 When  the  King  and  Queen  of  Prussia  were  in  Weimar,  they  paid  no 
attention  to  Goethe.  This  was  unusual  in  the  case  of  exalted  persons  who 
visited  the  Duke, 


EPIMENIDES 


585 


emotions  evoked  by  the  issues  at  stake.  The  whole 
is  to  be  understood  as  a symbolical  representation 
of  the  War  of  Liberation  and  the  victory  of  the  Allies, 
and  of  the  hopes  inspired  by  that  victory.  According 
to  Goethe  himself,  the  axis  of  the  piece  turns  on  the 
success  of  the  Demon  of  Oppression  in  befooling  and 
enslaving  Love  and  Faith,  by  which  he  meant  to 
imply  that  the  widespread  acceptance  of  the  doctrines 
of  the  French  Revolution  by  the  German  people  was 
responsible  for  all  they  had  suffered.  The  Demon, 
however,  had  not  been  able  to  subdue  Hope,  and  by 
Hope  the  nation  was  saved.  When  at  the  close  of 
the  piece  Epimenides  awakes,  it  is  to  find  himself 
amid  the  ruins  of  the  palace  1 in  which  he  had  fallen 
asleep,  but  he  is  soon  consoled  by  the  fact  that  its 
reconstruction  has  already  begun.  In  conclusion  the 
Chorus  addresses  the  German  nation  in  words  of 
congratulation  but  also  of  warning  which  are  the 
sincere  expression  of  Goethe’s  own  feeling. 

So  rissen  wir  uns  rings  herum 
Von  fremden  Banden  los. 

Nun  sind  wir  Deutsche  wiederum, 

Nun  sind  wir  wieder  gross. 

So  waren  wir  und  sind  es  auck 
Das  edelste  Geschlecht, 

Von  biederm  Sinn  und  reinem  Hauch 
Und  in  der  Thaten  Recht ! 

Such  was  the  work  which  Goethe  presented  to 
his  countrymen  as  an  expression  of  all  the  travail 
they  had  undergone  during  the  French  domination 
and  the  War  of  Liberation.  From  the  first  it  has 
been  regarded  as  unworthy  of  his  genius  and  of  the 
occasion.  The  Berliners,  who  saw  its  original  repre- 
sentation, marvelled  what  it  all  meant,2  and  when 
it  was  afterwards  produced  in  Weimar  it  was 
received  with  emphatic  disapproval.  Subsequent 
criticism  has  confirmed  the  contemporary  judgment, 

1 The  palace  is  to  be  regarded  as  typifying  Europe  before  the  French 
Revolution. 

3 It  was  first  played  in  Berlin  on  March  30,  1815, 


586  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

and  has,  moreover,  raised  a curious  question.  Whom 
are  we  to  understand  as  typified  by  Epimenides  ? 
By  some  critics  he  is  identified  with  the  German 
people ; by  others  with  Goethe  himself.  It  is 
difficult  to  suppose  that  Goethe  deliberately  put  on 
the  sheet  of  repentance  before  the  German  public, 
and  openly  confessed  that  he,  like  Epimenides,  had 
been  asleep  throughout  his  nation’s  agony.  Yet 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  general  opinion  of  the 
time,  the  words  which  Epimenides  utters  on  his 
awakening  would  have  been  sufficiently  appropriate 
in  the  mouth  of  Goethe  himself. 

Doch  scham’  ich  mich  der  Ruliestunden ; 

Mit  euch  zu  leiden,  war  Gewinn  : 

Denn  fur  den  Schmerz,  den  ihr  empfunden, 

Seid  ihr  auch  grosser  als  ich  bin. 

As  a matter  of  fact,  however,  we  know  that 
Goethe,  so  far  from  feeling  any  self-reproach  for  the 
line  of  conduct  he  had  chosen  to  pursue,  was  perfectly 
convinced  that  it  was  the  line  most  profitable  at  once 
for  himself  and  for  the  world.  That  he  was  deeply 
concerned  for  the  future  well-being  of  his  people  his 
own  frequent  expressions  and  the  testimony  of 
others  conclusively  prove.  But  his  conceptions  of 
how  that  well-being  was  to  be  secured  differed  from 
those  of  the  majority  of  his  contemporaries.  In  one 
of  the  most  noteworthy  of  his  reported  conversations 
belonging  to  this  time  1 (December,  1813)  he  ex- 
pressed in  passionate  terms  his  own  patriotic  aspira- 
tions and  expounded  the  conditions  under  which 
they  could  be  realized.  “ It  only  remains  for  each 
of  us,”  he  said,  “ according  to  his  talent,  his  inclina- 
tion and  his  position  to  deepen  and  widen  the  culture 
of  our  people  ...  in  order  that  they  may  not  fall 
behind  the  peoples  of  other  countries.”  How  he 
himself  had  sought  to  forward  this  end  he  has  thus 
stated  to  a correspondent.  “To  be  frank,  the 
greatest  service  which  I believe  I can  do  to  my 

J With  the  historian  H.  Luden. 


SHORT  POEMS 


587 


country,  is  to  persevere  in  my  biographical  attempt 
to  set  forth  fairly  and  calmly  the  changes  in  moral, 
aesthetic,  and  philosophical  culture  in  so  far  as  I have 
been  a witness  of  them,  and  to  show  how  one  genera- 
tion invariably  sought  to  supplant  and  subvert  its 
predecessor  instead  of  being  grateful  to  it  for 
stimulus,  information,  and  tradition.” 

The  “ biographical  attempt  ” to  which  Goethe 
refers  in  the  above  passage  was  Dichtung  und 
Wahrheit,  which  had  almost  exclusively  engaged  him 
since  1810,  and  the  third  volume  of  which  was 
published  in  1814. 1 The  period  before  us  (1810- 
1814),  however,  was  more  prolific  in  short  poems 
than  the  five  years  following  the  death  of  Schiller. 
During  these  five  years,  as  we  have  seen,  only  about 
half  a dozen  such  poems  came  from  his  hand,  whereas 
he  threw  off  about  thirty  between  1810  and  1814. 
The  latter,  however,  are  not  comparable  in  quality 
to  those  produced  during  the  period  of  his  comrade- 
ship with  Schiller.  What  specially  strikes  us  in  them 
is  that  they  contain  little  or  nothing  to  remind  us 
of  the  momentous  experience  through  which  the 
German  nation  was  then  passing.  War  songs  we 
do  not  expect  from  Goethe,  but  we  might  have  looked 
for  some  reflective  poems  prompted  and  inspired  by 
the  spectacle  which  Europe  then  presented.  For  the 
most  part  the  themes  which  he  chose  were  trivial, 
and  the  prevailing  mood  in  which  he  treats  them  is 
disengaged  banter.  To  these  years  belong  Ergo 
bibamus  ! (1810),  a call  to  the  careless  enjoyment  of 
life  ; Die  Lustigen  von  Weimar  (1813),  a rhyming 
record  of  a week’s  round  of  amusements  in  Weimar  ; 
the  humorous  ballads,  Der  treue  EcJchart,  Die 
wandelnde  Glocke,  and  Der  Todtentanz,  which  handles 
the  theme  of  Tam  o’  Shanter,  though  in  another 
fashion  and  with  less  dramatic  effect.  A few  short 
satirical  pieces  are  directed  against  his  pet  aversions  : 
Katzenpa-stete  is  not  a very  seemly  skit  on  Newton 
and  mathematicians  in  general ; the  Romantics  are 

1 The  last  volume  was  published  after  Goethe’s  death. 


588  THE  WAR  OF  LIBERATION 

ridiculed  in  Den  Zudringlichen  and  Pfajfenspiel,  in 
which  they  are  likened  to  Protestant  children  mimick- 
ing Roman  Catholic  ceremonies  ; and  the  futilities  of 
metaphysical  speculation  j jre  mocked  in  Die  Weisen 
und  die  Leute,1  where  the  people  are  represented  as 
consulting  the  sages  of  antiquity  on  the  mysteries  of 
existence,  and  receiving  their  various  solutions.  But 
perhaps  the  most  remarkable  short  poem  of  the 
period  is  that  entitled,  Gross  ist  die  Diana  der 
Ephesier  (1811),  in  which  Goethe  gives  direct  expres- 
sion to  his  pagan  sympathies.2  A goldsmith  of 
Ephesus,  who  has  devoted  his  art  to  the  worship  of 
Diana,  sitting  in  his  workshop,  hears  the  sound  of  a 
tumult  in  the  streets.  It  is  occasioned  by  the 
incident  recorded  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles — the 
rising  of  the  craft  of  silversmiths  against  Paul  and 
his  fellow-evangelists,  Gaius  and  Aristarchus.  The 
goldsmith  permits  his  apprentice  to  join  the  crowd, 
but  himself  quietly  continues  his  work  at  the  image 
of  the  goddess  on  which  he  is  engaged  and  which  he 
hopes  may  prove  worthy  of  her  divinity.  Goethe’s 
comment  on  the  goldsmith’s  action  is  in  the  conclud- 
ing line^  of  the  poem  : 

Will’s  aber  einer  anders  halten, 

So  mag  er  nach  Belieben  schalten  ; 

Nur  soil  er  nicht  das  Handwerk  schanden  ; 

Sonst  wird  er  scklecht  und  schmahlich  enden. 

Enough  has  been  said  of  the  nature  and  content  of 
the  shorter  pieces  produced  by  Goethe  during  this 
period  to  show  that  they  came  of  no  pressing  and 
continuous  inspiration.  He  was  on  the  eve,  however, 
of  a fresh  emotional  experience  that  was  to  find 
expression  in  a succession  of  poems  which  open  a 
new  vein  in  his  prolific  genius. 

1 Goethe  called  it  Gastmahl  der  Weisen. 

2 The  poem  was  written  as  a protest  against  Fritz  Jacobi’s  book  above 
mentioned — Von  goitlichen  Dingen  und  Hirer  Offenbarung. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


WEST-0STL1CHER  DIVAN 
1814—1818 

Goethe’s  experience  during  1814-18  affords  an  in- 
teresting illustration  of  the  mysterious  workings  of 
genius.  The  years  immediately  preceding  had  been 
years  of  depression  and  comparative  unproductive- 
ness ; the  five  that  were  to  follow  were  to  be  years 
of  resilience  and  notable  fecundity.  He  himself 
remarks  that  it  is  the  privilege  of  genius  to  enjoy 
a second  puberty,  and  he  doubtless  had  this  period 
of  his  life  in  his  mind  when  he  said  so. 

There  were  special  causes  that  explain  Goethe’s 
temporary  rejuvenescence  of  spirit  and  productive 
activity.  External  conditions  were  more  favourable 
to  the  free  exercise  of  his  powers  than  they  had  been 
during  the  years  he  had  just  left  behind.  The  War 
of  Liberation  was  over,  and  after  more  than  twenty 
years  the  nations  of  Europe  were  at  peace  with 
one  another.  He  had,  indeed,  little  sympathy  with 
the  political  developments  in  Germany  that  followed 
the  War  of  Liberation,  but  there  was  at  least  peace 
in  the  land,  and  it  was  easier  for  him  to  pursue  his 
labours,  now  undistracted  by  war’s  alarms.  But 
there  was  a direct  and  special  cause  for  his  renewed 
zest  in  life  and  quickened  inspiration  ; in  1814  he 
had  found  a fresh  source  of  emotional  and  intellectual 
interest  which  was  to  preoccupy  and  inspire  him 
continuously  during  the  following  five  years. 

We,  have  seen  how  it  was  his  habit  to  seek  relief 
from  a present  disturbing  experience  in  some  new 
living  interest.  During  the  War  of  Liberation  he 

589 


590  WEST-OSTLICHER  DIVAN 

had  found  refuge  in  the  study  of  Chinese  literature 
and  history,  and  he  now  found  a similiar  refuge, 
more  abiding  and  more  rewarding — also  in  the 
East.  The  East  had,  indeed,  a natural  attraction  for 
Goethe.  One  of  the  books  that  had  a special  charm 
for  him  in  his  boyhood  was  the  Bible,  particularly 
the  Old  Testament,  to  which,  as  he  tells  us,  he  owed 
“ almost  all  his  moral  education.”  In  his  early 
youth  his  intercourse  with  Herder,  who  was  the 
first  to  reveal  Hebrew  poetry  as  literature,  deepened 
this  interest.  During  the  opening  years  of  the 
nineteenth  century  special  attention  had  been  drawn 
to  Oriental  things,  both  by  public  events  and  by 
various  publications  dealing  with  them.  In  1808 
Friedrich  Schlegel  had  issued  his  book  on  the 
languages  and  wisdom  of  India,  which  Goethe 
read  with  enj  oyment,  though  he  detected  in  its 
treatment  of  the  subject  a propaganda  of  his  enenw, 
neo-Catholicism.  It  was  from  another  work  that 
he  received  the  direct  impulse  that  was  to  result 
in  a remarkable  addition  to  the  long  tale  of  his 
poetical  achievements.  Von  Hammer’s  translation 
of  the  Divan  (collection  of  poems)  of  the  Persian 
poet  Hafiz,  appeared  in  1812-13,  and  in  the  first 
half  of  1814  Goethe  read  it.  In  Hafiz  he  found 
a kindred  spirit,  and  the  idea  seized  him  that  he 
also  would  produce  a Divan,  into  which  he  could 
pour,  in  Oriental  guise,  at  once  the  passing  experience 
of  the  moment  and  his  permanent  convictions  on 
the  deepest  questions  of  life.  Thus,  in  his  own 
words,  he  had  found  a “ vessel  ” admirably  adapted 
to  be  the  deposit  of  thought  and  emotion,  expressed 
in  a manner  becoming  his  time  of  life  and  his  actual 
surroundings.  The  West-ostlicher  Divan,  as  he 
eventually  entitled  it,  is  to  be  regarded  as  a kind 
of  poetical  diary  of  the  years  1814-18  ; during  all 
this  period  the  writing  of  the  poems  themselves, 
and  the  study  of  Oriental  things  that  bore  on  the 
character  which  it  was  his  intention  to  give  them, 
were  his  main  preoccupation. 


THE  RHINELAND  REVISITED  591 

We  left  him  at  the  little  watering-place,  Berka,  * 
where  he  spent  the  May  and  June  of  1814.  The 
cold  baths  of  Berka  did  not  prove  efficacious  in 
removing  the  various  complaints  from  which  he 
suffered,  and  he  found  it  necessary  to  try  another 
place  of  cure.  He  had  lost  faith  in  Carlsbad,  and 
he  suggested  to  his  physicians  that  the  hot  springs 
of  Wiesbaden  might  prove  beneficial.  There  were 
other  inducements  that  drew  him  to  the  Rhine  and 
Main  country ; the  Rhine  he  had  not  seen  for 
twenty-two  years,  and  it  was  seventeen  years  since 
he  had  been  in  Frankfort.  Moreover,  he  had  a 
pressing  invitation  from  the  Boisserees  to  visit 
them  at  Heidelberg,  and  examine  their  collection 
of  engravings  of  German  mediaeval  art. 

On  June  25,  attended  by  a servant,  Goethe 
travelled  in  his  carriage  from  Weimar  to  Frankfort, 
a journey  which  occupied  him  four  days.  It  was 
accomplished  in  a lightness  of  spirits  which 
had  been  long  unfamiliar  to  him,  and  which  found 
expression  in  several  short  poems,  subsequently  to 
find  a place  in  the  Divan.  He  remained  only  one 
night  in  Frankfort,  and  spent  it  in  revisiting  old 
scenes,  in  which  after  the  lapse  of  seventeen  years 
he  found  much  changed  for  better  and  for  worse. 
Passing  his  paternal  home,  he  heard  the  familiar  tones 
of  the  old  house-clock,  which  the  present  occupier 
had  bought  at  an  auction  and  placed  in  its  former 
position.  On  the  evening  of  the  next  day  he  pro- 
ceeded to  Wiesbaden. 

The  expedition  extended  to  four  months,  and 
many  circumstances  combined  to  make  it  an  un- 
alloyed pleasure.  A delightful  climate  and  a glorious 
country,  treasures  of  art  and  interesting  antiquities, 
pleasant  and  profitable  social  intercourse,  and  (what 
was  always  agreeable  to  Goethe)  deferential  respect 
from  the  various  distinguished  persons  he  met, 
gave  him  a succession  of  exhilarating  experiences 
which  his  rapidly  improving  health  enabled  him 
to  enjoy  to  the  full.  With  the  exception  of  brief 


592  W ES T-OS TLI CHER  DIVAN 

visits  to  friends,  he  remained  till  September  12 
in  Wiesbaden,  where  during  the  first  weeks  of  his 
stay  he  had  the  companionship  of  Zelter,  of  all  his 
friends  the  one  to  whom  he  could  unbosom  himself 
most  freely.  The  cure  of  his  physical  ailments 
had  been  the  chief  object  of  his  journey,  but,  as 
in  all  his  journeys,  intellectual  profit  was  for  Goethe 
an  indispensable  necessity  for  full  enjoyment.  As 
had  been  his  invariable  habit,  he  drew  from  the 
distinguished  persons  he  now  met  such  special 
information  as  they  could  give  on  the  subjects  in 
which  they  were  authorities.  All  objects  of  interest 
in  science  and  art  he  curiously  inquired  after  and 
carefully  examined,  recording  his  impressions 
methodically.  The  collection  of  old  Dutch  and 
German  masters  got  together  by  the  Boisserees 
was  at  the  elder  brother’s  house  in  Heidelberg. 
Thither  he  went  on  September  24,  and  spent  a 
delightful  fortnight  in  examining  it,  and  in  converse 
with  the  two  brothers  and  with  other  acquaintances 
of  kindred  tastes.  The  Boisserees  had  reason  to 
be  satisfied  with  his  appreciation  of  their  treasures, 
which  were,  indeed,  a revelation  to  him,  as  Sulpiz 
states  that  hitherto  he  had  never  seen  a van  Eyck, 
and  had  been  acquainted  only  with  the  works  of 
Lucas  Cranach  and  with  a few  of  Diirer.  During 
his  stay  he  often  remained  from  8 o’clock  till  mid- 
day, alone  with  the  pictures,  each  of  which  had 
to  be  taken  down  from  the  wrall  and  placed  on  an 
easel  for  his  closer  scrutiny.  He  warmly  expressed 
his  admiration  of  what  he  saw,  and  frankly  acknow- 
ledged that  he  had  hitherto  undervalued  the  merits 
of  the  old  Dutch  and  German  masters.  But  the 
Boisserees  were  mistaken  when  they  imagined  that 
he  was  disposed  to  place  mediaeval  art  on  a level 
with  the  art  of  the  Greeks.  As  it  happened,  on 
his  way  to  Frankfort  from  Heidelberg  he  passed 
through  Darmstadt,  in  whose  galleries  he  saw  some 
specimens  of  Greek  art,  and  after  his  journey, 
recalling  his  various  impressions,  he  wrote  these 


MARIANNE  JUNG  593 

words  to  Knebel  (November  9,  1814) : “I  have 
supped  my  fill  both  at  the  Homeric  and  the 
Nibelungen  tables,  but  for  myself  I have  found 
nothing  to  suit  me  better  than  broad,  deep,  ever- 
living  nature,  the  works  of  the  Greek  poets  and 
sculptors.” 

Throughout  his  journey  the  Divan  had  been 
uppermost  in  Goethe’s  mind ; there  were  days 
when  he  wrote  as  many  as  ten  or  more  poems  which 
afterwards  found  a place  in  it.  He  had  hardly 
required  a fresh  inspiration  to  continue  a labour 
which  was  of  self  sprung  enj  oyment ; but  a new 
impulse  was  to  enrich  the  completed  whole  with 
material  peculiarly  consonant  to  the  Oriental  world 
into  which  he  had  chosen  to  transport  himself. 
Once  more  a woman  was  to  evoke  in  him  emotions 
which  had  to  find  relief  in  song.  Among  the  persons 
he  met  during  his  travels  was  Johann  Jacob  Willemer, 
a banker  in  Frankfort.  Willemer  had  been  a 
friend  of  Goethe’s  mother  and  had  long  been  a 
friend  of  his  own.  He  was  one  of  the  leading  men 
in  the  city,  a Privy  Councillor  and  a Director  of 
the  Theatre.  Of  cultivated  mind  and  of  many 
interests,  he  understood  and  appreciated  what  Goethe 
had  been  and  was  to  his  country.  He  was  now  a 
widower  of  fifty-four,  and  his  household  consisted 
of  his  two  daughters  (one  a widow)  and  a third 
inmate  who  had  had  a history.  She  was  Marianne 
Jung,  originally  an  opera-dancer  whom,  fourteen 
years  before,  Willemer  had  taken  from  the  stage 
and  made  a member  of  his  household.  Of  all  the 
women  with  whom  Goethe  came  into  close  contact 
she  seems  to  have  been  the  most  remarkable.  The 
portrait  we  have  of  her  suggests  character  and 
talent  rather  than  beauty,  and  her  own  writings 
and  the  testimony  of  those  who  knew  her  support 
the  inference.  From  her  resolute  will  she  was 
known  among  her  friends  as  “ the  little  Bliicher  ” ; 
and  those  of  her  letters  which  have  been  preserved 
display  the  insight  and  range  of  thought  of  a powerful 
VOL.  II.  o 


594  WEST-OSTLICHER  DIVAN 

mind.  Moreover,  she  possessed  a genuine  poetic 
gift,  and  her  intercourse  with  Goethe  was  to  elicit 
its  highest  expression.  To  these  gifts  and  qualities 
she  added  a charm  of  manner  and  a grace  of  speech 
and  motion,  which  even  in  her  advanced  age 
captivated  all  who  met  her.  Such  was  the  woman, 
now  in  her  thirtieth  year,  who  undoubtedly  awoke 
a genuine  passion  in  Goethe,  and  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  personalities  who  figure  in  his 
biography. 

It  was  not  on  the  occasion  of  his  present  journey, 
however,  that  their  mutual  attraction  asserted  itself 
in  dangerous  intensity.  He  met  her  towards  the 
end  of  September  while  he  was  the  guest  of  Fritz 
Schlosser,  a nephew  of  his  brother-in-law,  J.  G. 
Schlosser,  and  again  in  the  second  week  of  October. 
Between  these  two  encounters  an  important  event 
in  her  life  took  place,  her  marriage  with  her  bene- 
factor, Willemer.  Thus  he  was  placed  in  the  same 
relation  to  her  as  to  Maximiliane  von  la  Roche 
and  Frau  von  Stein,  though  it  was  not  till  the 
following  year  that  the  relations  of  Goethe  and 
Marianne  became  embarrassing  to  all  the  parties 
concerned.  Meantime,  towards  the  end  of  October, 
he  journeyed  home  to  Weimar  with  a store  of 
pleasant  memories  and  valuable  acquisitions.  The 
Divan  had  grown  on  his  hands,  and  his  health  and 
spirits  were  so  improved  that  his  friends  found 
him  rejuvenated. 

He  had  derived  so  much  mental  and  physical 
benefit  from  his  Rhine  and  Main  journey  in  1814 
that  he  determined  to  repeat  it  in  the  following 
year.  He  set  out  on  May  24,  a month  earlier  than 
in  the  previous  year,  and  settled  down  first  at 
Wiesbaden,  where  he  remained  till  the  second  week 
of  August,  with  the  break  of  a few  days  towards 
the  end  of  July.  In  the  beginning  of  that  month 
he  received  an  invitation  which  he  would  not  be 
disposed  to  refuse.  It  came  from  the  great  Prussian 
Minister  of  State,  von  Stein,  and  expressed  the 


VISIT  TO  COLOGNE  595 

latter’s  wish  that  Goethe  would  visit  him  at  his 
castle  of  Nassau.  When  Goethe  arrived  at  the 
castle,  he  found  that  von  Stein  was  on  the  point 
of  visiting  Cologne  on  public  business,  and  as  the 
poet  was  specially  desirous  of  making  a careful  ex- 
amination of  the  cathedral  there,  the  Minister  and 
he  made  the  journey  together  down  the  Rhine, 
partly  by  carriage  and  partly  by  boat.  Goethe 
could  not  but  recall  that  forty  years  before  he  had 
made  the  same  journey  with  Lavater  and  Basedow 
as  his  travelling  companions — he  conducting  him- 
self like  a German  student  on  holiday.1  In  Cologne 
they  met  the  poet  and  patriot  Arndt,  the  close 
friend  of  von  Stein.  Arndt  was  not  among  the 
patriots  who  denounced  Goethe  for  his  lack  of 
sympathy  with  the  national  aspirations,  and  he 
had  an  unbounded  admiration  for  his  genius,  but 
he  makes  some  frank  remarks  on  Goethe’s  demeanour 
as  he  observed  it  on  this  occasion.  What  he  noted 
in  him  was  a want  of  ease  before  persons  of  rank 
and  a compromising  deference  to  it.  His  bearing 
towards  von  Stein  was  excusable,  but  it  annoyed  Arndt 
to  see  him  assume  an  attitude  of  inferiority  to  some 
young  military  officers  of  high  birth  whose  relatives 
were  known  to  him.  It  seemed,  indeed,  to  Arndt 
that  Goethe  never  lost  the  consciousness  of  his 
bourgeois  origin  and  that  he  was  over-exacting  of 
deference  to  his  own  acquired  nobility.  Arndt 
adds,  however,  that,  in  his  converse  with  Goethe, 
von  Stein,  whose  temper  was  naturally  violent  and 
overbearing,  took  a subdued  tone  which  was 
unusual  with  him. 

Von  Stein,  whose  mind  was  open  to  every  means 
of  promoting  the  national  culture,2  requested  that 
Goethe  would  write  a memoir  on  the  art  and 


1 On  this  journey  with  von  Stein  Goethe  read  Werther,  and  he  waa 
heard  to  murmur  the  lines  entitled  Diner  zu  Coblenz,  which  he  had 
written  when  on  his  journey  with  Lavater  and  Basedow. 

2 It  was  von  Stein  who  founded  and  organized  the  Society  for  the 
publication  of  the  Monumenta  Oermanice  Historica. 


596  WEST-0STL1  CHER  DIVAN 

antiquities  of  the  Rhine  and  Main  country.1  In 
the  previous  year  Goethe  had  made  observations 
with  the  object  of  writing  such  a memoir,  but  in 
view  of  von  Stein’s  request  he  considered  it  necessary 
to  carry  out  a wider  and  more  careful  survey. 
Accordingly,  in  the  second  week  of  August,  he 
started  on  a second  journey  of  exploration,  and 
visited  successively  Mainz,  Frankfort,  Darmstadt, 
Heidelberg  and  Carlsruhe.  He  was  accompanied 
in  his  travels  by  Sulpiz  Boisseree  whose  acquaintance 
with  the  objects  he  was  investigating  was  invaluable 
to  him.  Our  chief  information  regarding  their 
movements  comes  from  a detailed  diary  kept  by 
Boisseree,  one  of  the  most  interesting  memorials 
that  we  possess  of  this  period  of  Goethe’s  life.  It 
reveals  his  universal  curiosity  and  his  indefatigable 
energy  in  mastering  the  details  that  were  presented 
to  him.  It  also  shows  in  full  relief  his  genial 
relations  with  youth  which  formed  a pleasing 
characteristic  of  his  old  age.  Boisseree  was  not 
a disciple  ; his  sympathies  were  with  the  Romantics 
in  religion  and  art ; but  he  possessed  personal 
qualities  which  seem  specially  to  have  attracted 
Goethe.  At  a later  date,  when  he  was  attacked 
by  a severe  illness,  Goethe  wrote  to  him  in  terms 
of  warm  affection,  Dying  stress  on  the  fact  that 
he,  almost  alone  of  the  younger  generation,  remained 
faithful  to  him. 

When  Arndt  met  Goethe  at  Cologne,  he  was 
greatly  struck  by  the  change  that  had  taken  place 
in  his  demeanour  since  he  saw  him  at  Dresden  two 
years  before.  Then  he  had  been  gloomy  and  coldly 
repellent ; now  he  was  happy,  cheerful,  and  all 
amiability.  The  change  in  his  mood  was,  as  we 
have  seen,  due  to  his  having  found  a new  source 
of  inspiration.  The  Divan,  which  had  been  his 
exhilarating  companion  in  his  previous  journey,  now 
engaged  him  more  than  ever,  and  he  was  almost 
daily  adding  to  the  number  of  pieces  that  were  to 

1 The  memoir  was  to  be  presented  to  von  Hardenberg. 


FRAU  VON  WILLEMER  597 

compose  it.  In  the  course  of  the  previous  year’s 
journey  his  intercourse  with  Marianne  von  Willemer 
had  suggested  a new  theme  for  his  work  and  given 
fresh  zest  to  his  inspiration.  It  was  during  his 
present  journey,  however,  that  he  was  most  deeply 
stirred  by  her  influence.  For  about  five  weeks 
he  was  the  guest  of  the  Willemer  family,  partly  at 
their  town-house  in  Frankfort  and  partly  at  their 
country  residence  called  the  Gerbermuhle.  The 
Gerbermiihle  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Main  about 
half  an  hour’s  walk  from  Frankfort,  and  commanded 
a landscape  of  rich  and  varied  beauty.  A little 
further  down  the  river  is  Offenbach,  where  forty 
years  before  Goethe  had  spent  some  days  of  bliss 
with  Lili  Schonemann.  From  what  is  recorded 
of  the  relations  of  Goethe  and  Marianne  there 
we  are  led  to  infer  that  these  weeks  were  marked 
by  increasing  emotion  on  the  part  of  both.  She 
evidently  put  forth  all  her  powers  of  attraction  ; 
she  sang  his  own  songs  with  an  art  and  feeling  that 
unstrung  him,  and  her  general  attitude  to  him  was 
such  as  to  appeal  equally  to  the  man  and  to  the 
poet.  His  work  at  the  Divan  was  known,  and  she 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  it  with  an  ardour  of 
sympathy  that  invited  a corresponding  response. 
As  has  been  said,  she  had  a poetic  gift  of  her  own, 
and  when  he  addressed  her  in  amatory  verses  in 
the  Oriental  style  of  the  Divan , she  replied  in  the 
same  form  and  in  the  same  tone,  with  a freshness 
and  beauty  that  have  given  her  a high  place  among 
German  poetesses.  At  length  the  situation  between 
them  became  such  that  she  found  it  desirable  to 
urge  his  departure.  On  September  18  he  left  the 
Gerbermuhle,  but  they  still  continued  their  amorous 
dallying.  They  agreed  to  communicate  with  each 
other  in  cyphers  by  references  to  pages  in  von 
Hammer’s  translation  of  Hafiz,  which  evoked  other 
poems  addressed  to  her  by  Goethe  in  the  same  strain. 
Five  days  later  they  met  once  more  at  Heidelberg, 
where  Marianne  and  her  husband  went  to  take  a 


598  WE  ST -6  ST  LI  CHER  DIVAN 

final  leave  of  him.  During  the  two  days  they  now 
spent  together  their  emotions  were  as  ardent  as 
ever,  and  in  the  moonlight  of  the  first  evening  they 
vowed  that  they  would  think  of  each  other  here- 
after on  the  occasion  of  every  full  moon.  After 
this  meeting  they  never  saw  one  another  again, 
and  it  was  not  till  after  her  death  in  1860  that  a 
communication  of  Hermann  Grimm  made  the  world 
aware  of  her  part  in  the  Divan. 

Goethe’s  intercourse  with  Marianne  von  Willemer 
lasted  only  a few  weeks,  but  it  gave  him  one  of 
the  vivid  experiences  of  his  life,  and  inspired  a 
succession  of  poems  with  an  exaltation  of  feeling, 
marvellous  considering  his  age  when  he  wrote  them. 
The  part  of  the  West-dstlicher  Divan  directly  inspired 
by  her,  the  Buck  Zuleika,  is  but  a section  of  the 
whole,  but  it  is  the  section  where  the  poet  displays 
his  richest  resources.  The  book  has  to  be  read  as 
a whole  in  order  to  receive  the  full  impression  of 
its  successive  flights  of  song  in  all  their  imaginative 
ingenuity  ; but  a few  verses  of  Marianne  and  Goethe 
respectively  will  indicate  the  tone  in  which  they 
addressed  each  other.  It  should  be  said  that  on 
his  way  to  Wiesbaden  on  his  second  journey  Goethe 
had  fixed  on  the  names,  Hatem  and  Zuleika,  for 
the  two  interlocutors  in  the  Divan,  who  in  the  Bucli 
Zuleika  represent  himself  and  the  lady.  It  was 
on  her  way  to  Heidelberg  that  Marianne  wrote 
the  following  stanzas,  which  some  are  disposed  to 
rank  higher  than  anything  of  Goethe’s  own  in  their 
poetical  exchanges. 

Ach,  um  deine  feuchten  Schwingen, 

West,  wie  sehr  ich  dich  beneide  : 

Denn  du  kannst  ihm  Kunde  bringen, 

Was  ich  in  der  Trennung  leide  ! 


Die  Bewegung  deiner  Fliigel 
Weckt  im  Busen  stilles  Seknen  ; 
Blumen,  Augen,  Wald  und  Hiigel 
Stehn  bei  deinem  Hauch  in  Thranen. 


POETICAL  INTERCHANGES 


599 


Doch  dein  mildes,  sanftes  Wehen 
Kiihlt  die  wunden  Augenlider  ; 

Ach,  fur  Leid  rniisst’  ich  vergehen, 

Hofft’  ich  nicht  zu  sehn  ihn  wieder. 

Eile  denn  zu  meinem  Lieben, 

Spreche  sanft  zu  seinem  Herzen  ; 

Doch  vermeid’  ihn  zu  betriiben 
Und  verbirg  ihm  meine  Schmerzen. 

Sag’  ihm,  aber  sag’s  bescheiden  ; 

Seine  Liebe  sei  mein  Leben, 

Freudiges  Gefiihl  von  beiden 
Wird  mir  seine  Nahe  geben. 

On  the  morning  following  Marianne’s  arrival  in 
Heidelberg,  Goethe  presented  her  with  the  following 
stanzas,  entitled  Wiederfinden. 

1st  es  moglich  ? Stern  der  Sterne, 

Driick’  ich  wieder  dich  ans  Herz  % 

Ach,  was  ist  die  Nacht  der  Feme 
Fur  ein  Abgrund,  fur  ein  Schmerz  ! 

Ja  du  bist  es  ! meiner  Freuden 
Siisser,  beber  Widerpart ! 

Eingedenk  vergangner  Leiden, 

Schaudr’  ich  von  der  Gegenwart. 

Als  die  Welt  im  tiefsten  Grunde 
Lag  an  Gottes  ew’ger  Brust, 

Ordnet’  er  die  erste  Stunde 
Mit  erhabner  Schopfungslust. 

Und  er  sprach  das  Wort : Es  werde  ! 

Da  erklang  ein  scbmerzbcb  Ach  ! 

Als  das  All  mit  Machtgebarde 
In  die  Wirkhchkeiten  brach. 

Auf  that  sich  das  Licht : so  trennte 
Scheu  sich  Finstemiss  von  ihm, 

Und  sogleicb  die  Elemente 
Scbeidend  aus  einander  fliehn. 

Rasch,  in  wilden,  wusten  Traumen 
Jedes  nacb  der  Weite  rang, 

Starr,  in  ungemessnen  Raumen, 

Ohne  Sebnsucbt,  ohne  Klang. 


600  WEST-OSTLICHER  DIVAN 

Stumm  war  alles,  still  und  ode, 

Einsam  Gott  zum  erstenmal ! 

Da  erschuf  er  Morgenrothe. 

Die  erbarmte  sich  der  Qual ; 

Sie  entwickelte  dem  Trtiben 
Ein  erklingend  Farbenspiel, 

Und  nun  konnte  wieder  lieben, 

Was  erst  aua  einander  fiel. 

Und  mit  eiligem  Bestreben 
Sucht  sich,  was  sich  angehort ; 

Und  zu  ungemessnem  Leben 
1st  Gefiihl  und  Bhck  gekehrt. 

Sei’s  Ergreifen,  sei  es  Raffen, 

Wenn  es  nur  sich  fasst  und  halt ! 

Allah  braucht  nicht  mehr  zu  schaffen  ; 

Wir  erschaffen  seine  Welt. 

So,  mit  morgenrothen  Elugeln 
Riss  es  mich  an  deinen  Mund, 

Und  die  Nacht  mit  tausend  Siegeln 
Kraftigt  stemenhell  den  Bund. 

Beide  sind  wir  auf  der  Erde 
Musterhaft  in  Freud’  und  Qual, 

Und  ein  zweites  Wort : “ Es  werde  ! ” 

Trennt  uns  nicht  zum  zweitenmal. 

On  October  10,  Goethe  was  back  in  Weimar 
and  with  such  a harvest  of  poems  for  the  Divan  that 
he  could  now  proceed  to  divide  them  into  books 
according  to  their  themes.  Three  years  more  were 
to  pass  before  he  gave  it  to  the  world. 

Goethe,  as  we  know,  had  not  been  sanguine  as 
to  the  political  results  for  Germany  of  the  War  of 
Liberation,  and  the  course  that  events  followed 
after  the  war  did  not  reassure  him.  The  develop- 
ments in  his  own  Duchy  of  Saxe- Weimar  gave  him 
grave  disquiet.  As  the  result  of  the  Congress  of 
Vienna,  forty  German  states  were  formed  into  a 
Confederation  loosely  bound  together,  and  each  at 
liberty  to  set  up  a constitution  of  its  own.  On 
account  of  the  important  services  he  had  rendered 
during  the  war,  Carl  August  was  handsomely  treated 
by  the  Congress ; he  was  made  a Grand  Duke  and 


POLITICAL  CHANGES  601 

the  area  of  the  Duchy  was  doubled.  The  Congress 
had  promised  that  each  of  the  forty  States  should 
have  a constitution,  and  Carl  August  was  the  first 
ruler  to  redeem  the  pledge.  Personally  Goethe 
profited  by  these  changes ; he  was  made  Prime 
Minister  of  the  Ministry  of  State  that  took  the  place 
of  the  old  Privy  Council,  and  his  salary  was  raised 
to  3000  thalers.  But  he  regarded  the  new  con- 
stitution with  profound  distrust  and  anxiety,  granting, 
as  it  did,  complete  freedom  of  the  Press  and  the 
election  of  representatives  by  free  ballot  to  all 
Estates  of  the  Duchy.  His  fears  of  a free  Press 
were  in  his  eyes  immediately  justified.  A crowd 
of  journals  appeared  throughout  the  Duchy  and 
notably  in  Jena,  where  students  and  professors 
promulgated  political  ideals  which,  for  Goethe, 
meant  universal  anarchy.  He  would  have  taken 
strong  measures  for  their  suppression,  but  the  Duke 
refused  to  stultify  himself  by  revoking  a privilege 
which  he  had  deliberately  granted.  The  poet’s  own 
interests,  however,  were  more  nearly  affected  by 
the  representative  body  ( Landtag ) created  by  the 
new  constitution.  Hitherto,  as  President  of  the 
Commission  for  Art  and  Science,  he  had  been  under 
no  control  in  the  matter  of  expenditure,  but  now 
he  was  legally  required  to  render  accounts  to  that 
body.  One  incident  that  belongs  to  a later  date 
(1823)  shows  how  he  chafed  under  this  check  on 
his  action.  He  was  called  on  to  make  a statement 
of  his  expenditure  for  the  year ; he  refused  to  do 
so  ; the  Landtag  was  insistent,  and  the  matter  was 
referred  to  the  Duke.  The  Duke  knew  that  Goethe 
was  in  the  wrong,  but  the  Duchess  intervened ; 
and  on  the  ground  that  there  was  only  one  Goethe 
and  that  a precedent  was,  therefore,  not  likely  to 
be  created,  she  persuaded  the  Landtag  to  pass  over 
the  defiance  of  its  authority. 

On  April  7,  1816,  a distasteful  duty  fell  to  Goethe. 
On  that  day  all  the  dignitaries  of  the  Duchy  met 
to  pay  homage  to  the  Duke  for  the  new  constitution, 


602  WEST-OSTLICHER  DIVAN 

and,  as  Prime  Minister,  it  was  incumbent  on  him 
to  be  present  at  the  ceremony.  In  itself  this  could 
not  be  a pleasure  to  him,  since  he  regarded  the 
granting  of  the  constitution  as  a disastrous  error, 
but,  as  it  happened,  he  was  suffering  from  a rheumatic 
attack  which  made  it  dangerous  for  him  to  venture 
out-of-doors.  A martinet  with  others  on  points  of 
official  duty,  he  had  always  been  a martinet  with 
himself.  Recalling  the  words  of  Napoleon : 
“ L’Empereur  ne  connait  autre  maladie  que  la 
mort,”  he  appeared  at  the  ceremony,  standing 
nearest  the  throne  on  the  Duke’s  right  hand.  Thus, 
he  wrote  to  Zelter,  he  performed  a duty  which  he 
had  discharged  for  forty  years. 

Two  months  later  (June  6)  Christiane  passed 
away.  During  her  last  illness  Goethe  was  himself 
prostrated  with  fever,  and  he  was  spared  the  sight 
of  her  sufferings  which  were  of  the  cruellest  nature. 
Towards  the  end  he  did  see  her  and,  overcome  by 
his  feelings,  he  fell  on  his  knees  at  her  bedside  and 
passionately  exclaimed,  “ Thou  shalt  not,  thou 
canst  not,  leave  me.”  That  her  loss  went  to  his 
heart,  we  cannot  doubt.  It  was  a strange  fate 
that  had  made  them  companions  in  life,  for  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  a seemingly  more  ill-assorted 
pair.  That  he  was  sorely  tried  at  times  by  her 
unfitness  to  fill  the  place  he  had  given  her  we  know, 
and  his  uniform  tenderness  and  consideration  for 
her  prove  his  essential  goodness  of  heart.  It  is 
touching  to  see  how  consistently  he  sought  to  enlist 
her  interest  in  his  own  pursuits  ; during  his  lengthy 
absences  he  regularly  communicated  to  her  the 
successive  stages  of  the  work  on  which  he  was 
engaged,  and  even  sent  her  copies  of  it  for  her 
judgment.  That  he  long  missed  her  devoted  care 
of  him,  we  have  both  his  own  evidence  and  that 
of  those  who  knew  him  best.  To  Sulpiz  Boisseree 
he  wrote  that  he  was  brought  to  the  brink  of  despair 
by  her  loss,  and  he  expressed  himself  in  similar 
terms  to  Zelter,  Humboldt,  and  other  friends.  This 


DEATH  OF  HIS  WIFE  603 

is  the  feeling  which  finds  utterance  in  the  lines  in 
which  he  commemorated  her  death  : 

Du  versuchst,  0 Sonne,  vergebens, 

Durch  die  diistem  Wolken  zu  scheinen  ! 

Der  ganze  Gewinn  meines  Lebens 
1st,  ihren  Verlust  zu  beweinen. 

It  had  been  Goethe’s  intention  to  revisit 
Wiesbaden  this  year  for  the  third  time,  and  on 
July  20  he  actually  started  on  the  journey.  Before 
he  had  travelled  half-way  to  Erfurt,  however,  his 
carriage  broke  down  and,  as  the  result  of  the  accident, 
his  travelling  companion  Meyer  received  a contusion 
on  the  forehead  which  bled  alarmingly.  There  was 
a strain  of  superstition  in  Goethe  which  manifested 
itself  in  different  incidents  of  his  life ; in  youth  he 
had  thrown  his  knife  into  the  Main  to  determine 
whether  destiny  meant  him  to  be  a poet  or  a painter. 
On  this  occasion  he  had  the  idea  that  the  omens 
were  against  his  going  to  Wiesbaden,  and  he  chose 
another  destination — Tennstadt  in  Thuringia,  whose 
sulphur  springs  were  reputed  to  be  beneficial  in 
cases  of  rheumatism,  the  trouble  from  which  he 
suffered.  There  he  occupied  himself  from  July  24 
to  September  10  in  reposeful  industry,  interrupted 
only  by  an  exasperating  visitor.  It  was  his  old 
friend,  the  philologer  Wolf,  whose  habit  of  contra- 
diction had  become  intolerable.  At  an  earlier  time, 
as  we  have  seen,  there  was  no  one  from  whose 
conversation  Goethe  had  drawn  greater  profit,  but 
now  he  regarded  his  departure  with  a feeling  of 
relief. 

In  October  Goethe  was  visited  in  Weimar  by 
a young  American,  George  Ticknor,  the  future 
historian  of  Spanish  literature,  who  thus  records 
his  impression  of  him.  “ He  is  something  above 
the  middle  size,  large  but  not  gross,  with  gray 
hair,  and  full,  rich  black  eyes,  which,  though  dimmed 
with  age,  are  still  very  expressive.  Taken  together, 
his  appearance  is  not  unly  respectable,  but  imposing. 


604  WEST-OSTLI CHER  DIVAN 

In  his  manners  he  is  simple.  He  received  us  without 
ceremony,  but  with  care  and  elegance,  and  made 
no  German  compliments.  ...  We  1 remained  with 
him  nearly  an  hour,  and  when  we  came  away,  he 
accompanied  us  as  far  as  the  parlor  door  with  the 
same  simplicity  with  which  he  received  us,  without 
any  German  congratulations.” 

Goethe  had  disapproved  of  Carl  August’s  policy 
in  granting  a free  constitution  to  his  Duchy  and 
he  had  not  concealed  his  opinion,  but  their  opposing 
views  never  affected  their  personal  relations.  A 
pitiful  incident,  however,  resulted  in  a temporary 
breach  between  them,  in  which  the  Duke  showed 
the  less  worthy  side  of  his  character.  A travelling 
comedian  named  Karsten  had  gained  an  extra- 
ordinary success  in' both  France  and  Germany  with 
a play,  the  principal  incident  of  which  was  a poodle’s 
discovery  of  a murder.  Karsten  applied  to  Goethe 
for  permission  to  produce  his  play  in  Weimar. 
Goethe,  who  detested  dogs,  and  who,  as  we  know, 
had  exalted  notions  of  the  dignity  of  the  stage, 
refused  in  his  capacity  of  Director  of  the  Theatre. 
Put  off  by  Goethe,  Karsten  made  application  to 
the  Duke,  who,  liking  dogs  as  much  as  Goethe 
loathed  them,  gave  the  necessary  permission,  and 
on  April  12  (1817)  the  play  w*as  staged.  Meantime 
Goethe,  in  high  indignation,  had  gone  to  Jena, 
where  he  received  a cold  communication  from  the 
Duke  to  the  effect  that  he  relieved  him  of  the 
Directorship  as  he  had  heard  that  this  was  Goethe’s 
own  wish.  The  Duke’s  action  was  in  reality  the 
outcome  of  a long  intrigue  that  had  been  directed 
against  Goethe’s  management  by  Caroline  Jagemann, 
a distinguished  singer  and  actress,  who  had  been 
for  some  years  the  Duke’s  mistress.  Old  memories 
and  his  better  nature,  however,  recalled  the  Duke 
to  a sense  of  his  inconsiderate  conduct,  and,  following 
up  a kindly  and  gracious  letter  to  Goethe,  he  made 


1 Tictnor  was  accompanied  by  Edward  Everett. 


605 


HIS  SON’S  MARRIAGE 

a special  visit  to  Jena  to  effect  a complete  reconcilia- 
tion. Goethe  had  declared  many  years  before 
that  he  had  more  trouble  than  pleasure  as  theatrical 
manager,  but  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
treated,  after  all  the  anxious  solicitude  he  had 
given  to  the  office,  deeply  wounded  him.  It  was 
not  only  that  the  Duke’s  conduct  was  a painful 
personal  slight ; there  was  the  chagrin  that  all 
his  labours  to  make  the  Weimar  stage  an  agency 
of  the  highest  culture  had  been  spent  in  vain. 

An  event  that  happened  in  Goethe’s  household 
in  the  course  of  the  summer  gave  him  special 
pleasure  ; on  June  17  his  son  August  was  married, 
and  to  a lady  of  whom  his  father  highly  approved. 
She  was  Ottilie  von  Pogwisch,  the  daughter  of  a 
Prussian  major,  whose  divorced  wife  was  one  of 
the  ladies  of  the  Weimar  Court.  Goethe  had  known 
Ottilie  from  her  childhood  when  she  sang  at  his 
concerts  and  gave  proof  of  a distinct  musical  talent. 
The  pair,  he  wrote  to  Sulpiz  Boisseree,  seemed 
predestined  for  each  other.  He  was  sadly  deceived  ; 
as  August  had  grown  up,  he  was  unfit  to  be  the 
husband  of  any  woman.  He  had  inherited  his 
mother’s  weakness,  and  he  was  incapable  of  steady 
attachment  or  of  purposeful  action.  Ottilie  was 
a high-spirited  woman,  romantic  in  temper  and 
accustomed  from  childhood  to  having  her  own 
way ; mentally,  moreover,  she  was  superior  to 
her  husband,  and  she  came  to  treat  him  with  the 
contempt  which  his  conduct  deserved.  They  had 
not  been  long  united  before  there  came  estrange- 
ment and  eventually  mutual  antipathy,  and  as 
they  were  domiciled  with  Goethe,  the  father  had 
the  painful  experience  of  seeing  with  his  own  eyes 
their  unhappy  relations.  It  was  an  alleviation, 
however,  that  he  had  a strong  affection  for  Ottilie 
who  returned  it  with  an  idolatrous  regard  ; she  had 
not  the  talents  of  a good  housewife,  but  her  sprightly 
gifts  and  her  devoted  care  did  much  to  brighten 
his  declining  years. 


606  WEST-OSTLIGEER  DIVAN 

Speaking  of  his  own  indifference  to  the  political 
ferment  now  working  in  Germany,  Goethe  compared 
himself  to  one  who  had  learned  to  sleep  in  a mill. 
But  there  was  some  exaggeration  in  the  comparison  ; 
he  took  no  direct  part,  indeed,  in  the  political  move- 
ments that  were  going  on  around  him,  but  his 
letters  and  the  records  of  his  conversation  show 
that  he  followed  them  with  keen  interest.  He 
could  not  but  be  interested  in  the  part  which  his 
own  nursling,  the  University  of  Jena,  was  playing 
in  the  revolutionary  movement  for  a free  united 
Germany  and  the  restoration  of  the  Empire.  The 
students  at  Jena,  ardently  supported  by  the 
professors,  had  led  the  way  in  the  formation  of 
the  Students’  Associations  (Burschenschaften)  whose 
object  was  the  realization  of  these  ideals.  In  1817 
they  took  a daring  step,  expressly  intended  to  forward 
the  movement  of  liberation.  This  year  was  the 
tercentenary  of  the  Reformation  and  the  third 
anniversary  of  the  victory  of  Leipzig  which  freed 
Germany  from  French  domination.  To  com- 
memorate the  two  events  they  resolved  to  hold 
high  festival  at  the  Wartburg,  Luther’s  place  of 
refuge,  and  to  invite  the  students  of  all  the  Protestant 
universities  to  j oin  them  in  the  celebration.  Goethe’s 
feelings  with  regard  to  the  festival  were  somewhat 
mixed.  There  could  be  no  objection,  he  said,  to 
a gathering  of  enthusiastic  youths  binding  them- 
selves “ to  spend  all  their  energies  in  them  respective 
spheres  of  life.”  Though  he  regarded  the  Reforma- 
tion in  its  general  tendencies  and  results  with 
qualified  approval,  he  had  the  highest  admiration 
for  the  character  of  Luther  as  Germany’s  great 
liberator.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  grave  fears 
as  to  what  might  be  the  effect  of  the  demonstration 
on  the  ruling  powers  in  the  countiy  and  the  policy 
they  might  be  led  to  adopt.  The  festival,  which 
was  held  on  October  18,  passed  off  harmlessly 
enough.  About  five  hundred  students  and 
professors  attended  it ; orations  were  delivered, 


THE  LUTHER  CELEBRATION  607 

and  the  proceedings  closed  with  a holocaust  of  anti- 
patriotic  publications,  among  which,  to  Goethe’s 
malicious  delight,  were  those  of  his  enemy  Kotzebue, 
who  had  made  himself  obnoxious  by  acting  as  an 
agent  of  Russia.1  But  what  followed  as  the  direct 
result  of  the  Wartburg  Festival  justified  Goethe’s 
fears.  Under  the  ascendancy  of  Metternich, 
Germany,  during  the  next  decade,  was  subjected 
to  a tyranny  which  aimed  at  the  suppression  of 
all  popular  liberties,  and  among  the  institutions 
most  rigorously  held  in  hand  were  the  universities. 

Amid  all  Goethe’s  manifold  interests,  the  Divan 
still  held  the  first  place.  New  poems  had  been 
added  to  it  since  his  second  journey  to  Wiesbaden, 
and  he  had  sedulously  read  all  manner  of  books 
that  threw  light  on  the  East.  The  year  1818  was 
mainly  devoted  to  its  completion.  Six  months  of 
that  year  were  spent  away  from  Weimar,  four  of 
them  in  Jena  at  various  times.  In  the  beginning 
of  June  he  was  attacked  by  a serious  illness  which 
puzzled  his  physicians  who  ordered  him  to  his  old 
place  of  cure,  Carlsbad.  There  he  remained  from 
the  end  of  July  till  the  middle  of  September,  and 
met,  as  formerly,  many  distinguished  persons, 
Metternich  and  Bliicher  among  the  number. 
Throughout  these  journeyings,  however,  the  Divan, 
the  printing  of  which  had  begun  in  February,  went 
with  him,  and  in  the  beginning  of  November  it 
was  ready  for  the  press. 2 

We  have  seen  how  Goethe  came  to  assume  the 
Oriental  guise  which  gives  its  character  to  the 
W est-ostlicher  Divan.  He  found  it  pressingly 
necessary  in  the  interest  of  his  own  well-being  to 
transport  himself  to  some  ideal  world,  and  in  the 
world  of  Hafiz  he  found  one  that  made  a special 
appeal  to  him.  Moreover,  as  the  work  grew  on 
his  hands,  he  felt,  as  he  told  Zelter,  that  the  Oriental 

1 To  Goethe’s  great  annoyance  Kotzebue  had  settled  in  Weimar  and 
taken  up  his  residence  in  a house  opposite  to  his  own. 

2 It  was  not  published  till  the  following  year. 


608  W ES T-OS TLI CHER  DIVAN 

manner  suited  his  age,  his  modes  of  thought,  his 
experiences,  and  his  discretion.  As  he  himself 
describes  it,  the  plan  of  the  work  is  simple.  The 
poet  is  to  be  regarded  as  a traveller  in  the  East 
interested  in  its  manners,  customs  and  religion, 
and  not  annoyed  if  he  is  taken  for  a Mussulman. 
The  meaning  and  purpose  of  the  whole,  he  says, 
are  given  in  the  opening  poem. 

Nord  und  West  und  Slid  zersplittem, 

Throne  bersten,  Reicbe  zittern. 

Fliicbte  du,  im  reinen  Osten 
Patriarchenluft  zu  kosten. 

Unter  Lieben,  Trinken,  Singen, 

Soil  dich  Cbisers  Quell  verj ungen. 

The  collection,  containing  nearly  three  hundred 
pieces,  is  divided  into  twelve  books,  each  with  a 
title  generally  indicating  its  theme.  We  have  the 
Book  of  the  Singer,  the  Book  Hafiz,  the  Book  of  Love, 
the  Book  of  Reflections,  etc.  The  general  character 
of  the  style  in  which  the  poems  were  written  will 
be  suggested  by  those  that  have  been  quoted ; 
as  in  the  Roman  Elegies  Goethe  made  use  of  classical 
phraseology,  so  in  the  Divan  he  appropriates  that 
of  the  East.  But,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Roman  Elegies, 
while  the  style  is  exotic,  the  themes  are  suggested 
by  the  poet’s  own  experience.  “ You  will  recognize 
an  old  friend  behind  the  mask,”  he  wrote  to  one 
correspondent,  and  he  tells  another  that  in  reading 
the  Divan  he  would  notice  how  often  the  Platz  and 
the  Schloss  of  Heidelberg  had  been  before  the  eyes 
of  the  writer.  In  truth,  as  has  been  already  said, 
the  Divan  is  the  record  of  whatever  interested 
Goethe  in  his  own  person  during  the  period  of  its 
composition.  We  have  seen  how  in  one  book,  the 
Book  Suleika,  we  have  the  presentment  of  his  relations 
with  Marianne  von  Willemer.  The  theme  of  that 
book  is  love,  and  in  it  the  genius  of  the  poet  finds 
its  intensest  and  highest  expression,  but  it  is  in 
other  books  that  we  must  look  for  the  ripest  thought 


REFLECTIONS  609 

of  Goethe  on  life  and  the  world  at  the  time  when 
he  wrote  them.  The  Divan  is,  indeed,  a treasure- 
house  of  reflections  among  the  most  familiar  that 
he  has  bequeathed  to  us.  A few  of  them,  taken 
at  random,  may  be  quoted. 

From  the  Book  of  the  Singer  : 

Dann  zuletzt  ist  unerlasslich, 

Dass  der  Dichter  manches  hasse, 

Was  unleidlich  ist  und  hasslich, 

Nicht  wie  Schones  leben  lasse. 


Wenn  des  Dichters  Miihle  geht, 
Halte  sie  nicht  ein  ; 

Denn  wer  einmal  uns  versteht, 
Wird  uns  auch  verzeihn. 


Und  so  lang’  du  das  nicht  hast, 
Dieses  : Stirb  und  werde  ! 

Bist  du  nur  ein  triiber  Gast 
Auf  der  dunklen  Erde. 

From  the  Book  of  Reflections  : 

Was  verkiirzt  mir  die  Zeit  ? 
Thatigkeit ! 

Was  macht  sie  unertraglich  lang  ? 
Miissiggang  ! 


Mir  bleibt  genug  ! Es  bleibt  Idee  and  Liebe  ! 

From  the  Book  of  Aphorisms  : 

Priift  das  Geschick  dich,  weiss  es  wohl  warum  ; 
Es  wiinschte  dich  enthaltsam  ! Folge  stumin  ! 


Mein  Erbtheil  wie  herrlich  weit  und  breit ! 

Die  Zeit  ist  mein  Besitz,  mein  Acker  ist  die  Zeit. 

From  the  Book  Suleika  : 

Volk  und  Knecht  und  Ueberwinder, 

Sie  gestehn  zu  jeder  Zeit : 

Hochstes  Gluck  der  Erdenkinder 
Sei  nur  die  Personlichkeit. 


VOL.  II 


P 


610  WEST-OSTLICHER  DIVAN 

From  the  Book  of  Paradise  : 

Nicht  so  vieles  Federlesen  ! 

Lass  mich  immer  nur  herein  : 

Denn  ich  bin  ein  Menseh  gewesen, 

Und  das  heisst  ein  Kampfer  sein. 

On  its  appearance  the  W est-bstlicher  Divan  met 
with  a mixed  reception ; it  had  illustrious  admirers, 
such  as  Alexander  von  Humboldt  and  Hegel,  but 
the  prevailing  opinion  was  adverse.  In  later  times 
it  has  been  more  generally  appreciated,  but  the 
opinion  of  modern  German  critics  is  divided  as  to 
its  place  among  Goethe’s  greater  works.  Traces 
of  old  age  are  found  in  its  frequent  obscurity  and 
in  a straining  of  the  German  language  beyond 
legitimate  limits.  It  may  be  said  that  the  artificial 
form  of  the  Divan  necessarily  precludes  it  from 
attaining  the  highest  heaven  of  poetry,  as  for  such 
flight  simplicity  of  form  and  direct  inspiration  are 
the  imperative  conditions.  But  it  will  always  have 
a special  attraction,  at  least  for  mature  readers, 
because  of  its  wealth  of  wisdom  and  as  a marvellous 
example  of  intellectual  and  imaginative  power 
retained  into  advanced  age,  though,  at  the  same 
time,  it  may  be  admitted  that  it  is,  “ October’s 
workmanship  to  rival  May.” 

To  the  Divan,  Goethe  attached  voluminous  notes 
which  he  deemed  necessary  to  explain  and  illuminate 
the  world  into  which  it  transports  the  reader.  These 
notes  are  of  high  value  both  for  the  light  which 
they  throw  upon  the  East  and  for  the  self -revelations 
they  contain.  They  are  the  result  of  years  of  strenuous 
study  of  Oriental  things ; even  of  Arabic,  which 
he  learned  to  read,  and  whose  characters,  he  says, 
he  copied  with  the  object  of  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  its  literature.  Beginning  with  a general  survey 
of  the  characteristics  of  the  East,  he  appraises  the 
greater  Persian  poets  in  chronological  order,  and 
closes  with  an  account  of  the  travellers  and  scholars 
to  whom  he  had  been  chiefly  indebted.  As  literature, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS  611 

the  notes  have  a high  place  among  Goethe’s  prose 
works  ; Heine,  a supreme  judge,  gives  them  unstinted 
praise.  Here,  indeed,  we  are  far  from  the  torrential 
flow  of  Goethe’s  earlier  prose ; a measured  calm 
and  weighty  reflectiveness  suggest  a mind  that 
has  travelled  the  round  of  human  thought  and 
experience. 

Goethe’s  poetical  production  during  the  years 
1814-19  was  not  confined  to  the  Divan;  he 
threw  off  other  poems,  longer  and  shorter,  some  of 
which  are  memorable.  Here  it  may  be  sufficient 
to  mention  the  mysterious  Ballade,  which  relates 
the  return  of  the  lord  who  was  supposed  to  be 
dead ; the  Kiinstlerlied,  beginning  “ Zu  erfinden, 
zu  beschliessen  ” ; Trauerloge  ; Urworte-Orphisch  ; 
Dm  Mitternacht,  the  melody  of  which  haunted 
Goethe’s  memory.  The  short  poem  entitled  Dem 
31  Oktober  1817  is  specially  interesting  at  this 
point  as  expressing  his  attitude  to  the  Protestant 
spirit  in  connection  with  the  Wartburg  celebration. 

Dreihundert  Jahre  hat  sich  schon 
Der  Protestant  erwiesen, 

Dass  ihn  von  Papst-und  Turkenthron 
Befehle  bass  verdriessen. 

Was  auch  der  Pfaffe  sinnt  und  schleicht, 

Der  Prediger  steht  zur  Wache, 

Und  dass  der  Erbfeind  nichts  erreicht, 

1st  aller  Deutscben  Sacbe. 

Auch  icb  soil  gottgegebne  Kraft 
Nicht  ungeniitzt  verlieren, 

Und  will  in  Kunst  und  Wissenschaft 
Wie  immer  protestiren. 

Poetry,  however,  was  far  from  absorbing  all 
Goethe’s  energies.  Science  engaged  his  attention 
as  much  as  ever ; optics,  geology,  natural  history, 
and  meteorology  successively  occupied  him,  and  in 
1817  appeared  his  Geschichte  meines  botanischen 
Studiums,  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  his  auto- 
biographical fragments.  During  the  same  period 


612  WEST-OSTLICHEN  DIVAN 

he  saw  a new  edition  of  his  works  through  the  press, 
and  he  began  to  put  together  the  narrative  of  his 
Italian  travels,  to  which  attention  has  already  been 
drawn.1  In  1816,  in  collaboration  with  Meyer,  he 
started  a journal,  entitled  Kunst  und  Altertum, 
which  he  continued  to  edit  till  1828.  Its  first 
number  contained  the  memoir  on  the  art  and 
antiquities  in  the  Rhine  and  Main  Country  which 
von  Stein  had  requested  him  to  prepare  for 
Hardenberg,  and  generally  the  journal  was  devoted 
to  proclaiming  the  superiority  of  Greek  to  mediaeval 
ideals  in  art  and  literature.  In  addition  to  his 
literary  labours,  as  Commissioner  for  Science  and 
Art  in  the  Duchy,  he  gave  sedulous  attention  to 
the  institutions  connected  with  these  departments, 
and,  notably,  to  the  library  of  the  University  of 
Jena. 

It  was  during  this  period  that  he  became 
interested  in  a poet  who  was  to  have  a growing 
fascination  for  him — a fascination  which,  in  his 
friends’  opinion,  eventually  became  an  infatuation. 
In  1816  he  read  Byron’s  Corsair  and  Lara,  “ not 
without  admiration  and  sympathy.”  Repelled  at 
first  by  Byron’s  “ hypochondriacal  passion,”  he 
became  more  and  more  interested  in  the  personality 
of  the  man.  In  Byron’s  character  and  career,  as 
they  were  gradually  revealed  to  the  world,  Goethe 
doubtless  saw  a likeness  to  his  own  as  he  had  been 
in  his  youthful  days  in  Strassburg,  Frankfort,  and 
Weimar.  He  well  knew  how  nearly  he  had  made 
shipwreck  of  himself  at  certain  periods  of  his  life  ; 
only  two  years  before  his  death  he  could  write : 
“ I have  that  in  me  which,  if  I allowed  it  to  go 
unchecked,  would  ruin  both  myself  and  those  about 
me.”  As  we  shall  see,  there  was  another  contest 
with  himself  before  him  which  was  to  strain  all  his 
powers  of  self-control. 

1 See  supra,  pp.  241-346 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


ECKERMANN — ULRIKE  VON  LEVETZOW — 
ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

1819—1824 

The  years  during  which  Goethe  had  been  engaged 
on  the  West-dstlicher  Divan  had  been  years  of 
exhilaration  and  of  poetic  productiveness  ; but  in 
the  years  that  immediately  followed  its  publication 
(1819)  he  found  no  theme  to  stimulate  him  to  similar 
creative  activity.  There  was  no  slackening  of  toil 
on  his  part ; as  of  old,  every  hour  of  his  waking 
life  was  devoted  either  to  the  acquiring  or  to  the 
propagating  of  what  would  profit  himself  and  the 
world.  But  his  frequent  references  to  his  advancing 
years  show  that  he  was  feeling  their  “ inevitable 
yoke  more  and  more.”  It  may  be  regarded  as  a 
proof  of  his  failing  imaginative  power  that  he  devoted 
his  attention  to  the  natural  sciences  in  greater 
degree  than  ever.  “ I am  now  too  old,”  he  wrote 
to  Zelter,  “ to  be  interested  in  questions  of  aesthetics,” 
and  his  reported  conversations  and  the  space  he 
assigns  to  his  scientific  pursuits  in  his  Annalen  are 
evidence  that  he  was  stating  what  he  felt.  With 
the  prevailing  contemporary  tendencies  in  German 
literature,  which  he  summarily  described  as  “ tom- 
foolery, sanctimoniousness,  and  affected  fondness 
for  antiquarianism,”  he  grew  more  and  more 
impatient,1  and  it  was  from  the  sense  that  he  was 
out  of  sympathy  with  the  German  public  that  at 

1 In  the  Tag • und  Jahreshefte  he  says  that  from  1820  he  abstained 
from  reading  the  productions  of  the  younger  German  writers. 

613 


614 


GOETHES  OLD  AGE 


a later  date  lie  decided  not  to  publish  the  Second 
Part  of  Faust  during  his  lifetime.  And  he  was 
equally  out  of  sympathy  with  the  political  tendencies 
that  followed  the  War  of  Liberation,  for  the  repressive 
policy  with  which  the  name  of  Metternich  is  associated 
was  as  distasteful  to  him  aswerethe  liberal  aspirations 
of  which  the  University  of  Jena  was  the  hotbed. 

As  it  happens,  we  have  an  interesting  com- 
mentary on  Goethe’s  general  attitude  to  men  and 
things  during  the  years  following  1818.  We  have 
seen  how  in  the  Divan  he  gave  expression  to  his 
varying  moods,  his  personal  experiences,  and  his 
opinions  on  life  and  art.  It  was  a necessity,  especially 
of  his  later  years,  thus  to  find  brief  and  pregnant 
utterance  for  the  thoughts  and  emotions  that  chanced 
at  the  moment  to  be  preoccup3Ting  him,  and  the 
Divan  being  completed,  he  had  now  to  look  for 
another  vehicle  through  which  to  deliver  himself. 
This  vehicle  he  found  in  the  form  which  Schiller 
and  he  had  chosen  as  the  most  effective  weapon 
against  the  Philistinism  of  the  day — the  short 
epigrams  in  verse,  which  they  entitled  Xenien.  As 
the  new  pieces,  however,  were  not,  like  the  previous 
series,  deliberately  conceived  and  written  with  a 
polemical  purpose,  he  called  them  Zahme  Xenien. 
Taken  as  a whole,  they  are  of  more  general  and 
permanent  interest  than  those  he  had  written  in 
collaboration  with  Schiller.  Among  them  are 
reflections  on  the  conduct  of  life,  on  art  and  on 
literature,  which  belong  to  the  common  stock  of 
Goethe  quotations. 1 But  then  main  interest  is 
the  light  which  they  throw  on  Goethe’s  prevailing 
mood  and  his  attitude  to  the  world  around  him. 
They  show  that  he  felt  himself  a stranger  and  an 
alien  in  the  generation  that  had  succeeded  his  own. 

1 As,  for  example,  the  lines : 

Wie  das  Gestim, 

Ohne  Hast, 

Aber  ohne  Rast, 

Drehe  sich  jeder, 

Um  die  eigne  Last, 


GROWING  ISOLATION  615 

There  is  bitterness  of  spirit  in  his  scathing  denuncia- 
tion of  the  Romantics  in  art  and  literature,  the 
professional  men  of  science,  and  the  democrats  and 
republicans  in  politics.  He  complains  of  his  isolation, 
of  the  misunderstanding  to  which  he  is  subjected 
both  as  a poet  and  as  a student  of  nature. 

Sage  mir  keiner  : 

Hier  soli  ich  hausen  ! 

Hier,  mehr  als  draussen 
Bin  ich  alleiner. 

Elsewhere  he  pathetically  remarks  that  “ an  old 
man  is  ever  a King  Lear  ” ; yet,  in  spite  of  mis- 
representation and  the  absence  of  sympathy,  he 
has  no  thought  of  desisting  from  the  steadfast 
pursuit  of  his  own  ideals,  and  he  finds  consolation 
and  stimulus  in  the  fact  that  even  in  the  younger 
generation  there  are  those  who  understand  and 
appreciate  him. 

Gutes  zu  empfangen,  zu  erweisen, 

Alter  ! geh’  auf  Reisen. — 

Meine  Freunde 

Sind  aus  einer  Mittelzeit, 

Eine  schone  Gemeinde ; 

Weit  und  breit, 

Auch  entfernt, 

Haben  sie  von  mir  gelemt, 

In  Gesinnung  treu. 

It  was  in  this  temper,  bating  no  jot  of  heart  or  hope, 
though  not  with  the  serene  composure  of  Milton 
in  his  last  days,  that  Goethe  pursued  his  unresting 
labours  during  the  time  that  remained  to  him. 

In  his  last  years  the  expression  frequently  fell 
from  his  pen  that  “ to  live  long  is  to  outlive  many.” 
In  the  spring  of  1819  he  lost  two  friends  to  whom 
he  had  long  been  bound  by  ties  of  respect  and 
affection.  Fritz  Jacobi,  with  whom  was  associated 
one  of  the  most  memorable  experiences  of  his  youth, 
died  on  March  11.  He  was  in  his  twenty-fifth  year 
when  he  first  met  Jacobi,  and  during  the  few  days 


616  GOETHES  OLD  AGE 

they  spent  together  there  was  an  interchange  of 
heart  and  mind,  which  both,  with  equal  effusion, 
declared  to  have  been  unique  in  their  experience. 
Time  had  revealed  to  them  their  essential  differences 
of  nature,  and  their  opinions  on  religious  and 
philosophical  questions  came  to  be  so  fundamentally 
opposed  as  to  leave  no  common  ground  between 
them.  But  their  mutual  regard  and  affection 
remained  unchanged.  “ Round  your  name,”  Goethe 
wrote  five  years  later  to  a grand-daughter  of  Jacobi, 
“ are  gathered  the  most  beautiful  and  most  significant 
memories  of  my  life.”  The  other  friend  whom 
Goethe  now  lost  (March  22)  was  taken  from  his 
side.  This  was  C.  G.  Voigt  who,  after  Goethe 
himself,  had  been  the  most  important  of  the  Duke’s 
Ministers.  Voigt  was  an  official  after  Goethe’s  own 
heart — enlightened,  scrupulously  honourable,  and 
ever  awake  to  the  best  interests  of  the  Duchy. 
They  had  occasionally  differed  on  questions  of 
policy,  as,  for  example,  on  the  granting  of  freedom 
to  the  Press  ; but  each  had  leant  on  the  other  for 
counsel  and  support,  and  Voigt’s  death  was  among 
the  grave  losses  of  Goethe’s  last  years. 

The  very  next  day  occurred  an  event  which 
Goethe  thought  Voigt  was  fortunate  in  not  having 
lived  to  see.  On  March  23,  Kotzebue,  Goethe’s 
old  enemy,  was  assassinated  by  the  student  Karl 
Sand  at  Mannheim,  as  a traitor  to  the  cause  of 
German  liberty.  Kotzebue’s  death  has  been 
described  as  the  most  important  event  in  German 
history  from  the  War  of  Liberation  to  the  Revolution 
of  1848,  and,  if  we  may  judge  from  his  frequent 
references  to  it,  Goethe  fully  recognized  its 
significance.  He  had,  indeed,  special  reasons  for 
concern  regarding  the  consequences  it  might  involve. 
Sand’s  crime  had  been  the  direct  outcome  of  the 
Burschenschaft  movement,  and  it  was  recognized  as 
such  by  Metternich  and  the  other  statesmen  who 
were  bent  on  the  suppression  of  popular  liberties. 
But  the  students  and  professors  of  Jena  had  been 


POLITICAL  FERMENT  617 

the  most  ardent  supporters  of  the  Burschenschaft, 
and  Jena  was  in  Carl  August’s  dominions.  In 
Metternich’s  opinion,  therefore,  Carl  August,  by  his 
grant  of  a free  constitution,  was  largely  responsible 
for  the  rebellious  spirit  of  young  Germany.  As 
Goethe  probably  knew,  Metternich  had  openly 
expressed  his  indignation  at  Carl  August’s  policy, 
and  it  was  not  unlikely  that  he  would  take  some 
means  of  punishing  him.  A movement  of  Goethe 
during  the  autumn  of  1819  may  have  had  some 
relation  to  this  menace  to  the  Duke.  In  consequence 
of  the  political  ferment  in  the  country,  intensified 
by  the  assassination  of  Kotzebue,  the  representatives 
of  several  German  Governments  met  at  Carlsbad  in 
the  beginning  of  August. 1 Metternich  was  the  most 
important  person  present,  and  the  object  of  the 
conference  was  to  decide  what  measures  were 
necessary  to  restrain  the  popular  movement.  The 
outcome  of  the  deliberations  was  the  “ Carlsbad 
Decrees,”  the  purport  of  which  was  to  give  despotic 
power  to  the  separate  States,  and  to  deprive  the 
Universities  of  their  liberties.  While  the  conference 
was  still  proceeding,  Goethe  chose  to  go  to  Carlsbad, 
and  had  the  opportunity  of  intercourse  with  several 
of  the  leading  politicians  present — with  Metternich 
among  others.  As  we  have  seen,  he  had  previously 
met  Metternich  and  found  in  him  a well-wisher. 
Goethe  does  not  tell  us  what  subjects  they  discussed 
on  this  occasion,  and  his  only  remark  is  that  he 
found  Metternich,  as  formerly,  “ a gracious 
gentleman.”  It  is  improbable  that  Goethe,  whose 
devotion  to  the  Duke  was  a passion,  would  lose 
the  opportunity  of  speaking  a word  in  his  master’s 
interests. 

No  events  of  special  importance  mark  the  course 
of  Goethe’s  life  during  the  years  1819-23.  He 
continued  to  follow  the  old  routine,  dividing  the 
year  between  Weimar,  Jena,  and  some  watering-place. 

1 Carl  August  sent  a representative  to  the  Conference,  but  he  was 
permitted  to  attend  only  one  out  of  its  twenty-three  meetings. 


618 


ECKERMANN 


Only  we  note  that  he  felt  the  increasing  necessity 
of  husbanding  his  resources.  Frequent  illnesses, 
more  or  less  serious,  forced  him  to  seek  some 
place  of  cure,  but  it  was  against  his  will  that 
he  left  Weimar  for  any  length  of  time.  “ I can 
no  longer  feel  happy  anywhere  except  in  my  own 
home,”  he  wrote  to  Zelter  in  the  spring  of  1819. 
He  ceased  to  attend  the  Court,  and  during  the  winter 
rarely  went  beyond  his  own  garden.  But  frequent 
social  intercourse  had  always  been  a necessity  of 
his  nature,  and  he  made  arrangements  that  he  should 
not  be  debarred  from  it.  On  Tuesdays  and 
Thursdays  he  held  receptions,  when  large  companies 
assembled,  music  and  miscellaneous  discussion  being 
the  entertainment  of  the  evening.  To  these  social 
gatherings  came  the  Duke  and  Duchess  and  their 
courtiers,  as  well  as  distinguished  strangers  on  a 
visit  to  Weimar,  among  whom,  Goethe  notes,  were 
occasionally  cultivated  Englishmen.  On  the  other 
evenings  of  the  week  there  was  a narrower  circle, 
consisting  of  men  and  women  with  whom  discussion 
took  higher  flights.  Thus,  Goethe  comments,  he 
perhaps  enjoyed  more  intimate  and  more  searching 
converse  than  in  the  distractions  of  out-of-door 
society. 

The  year  1823  is  memorable  in  Goethe’s  life  ; 
for  in  the  course  of  it  he  was  brought  into  contact 
with  the  man  who  was  to  add  the  crowning  edifice 
to  his  life’s  work  ; and  he  was  once  more  mastered 
by  a passion  for  a woman — the  last  of  the  many 
similar  experiences  that  had  made  epochs  in  his 
life.  It  is  one  of  the  fortunate  accidents  in  the 
history  of  literature  that  Goethe  became  acquainted 
with  Eckermann  just  at  the  period  when  he  was 
best  prepared  and  disposed  to  profit  by  his  good 
offices.  Their  association  lasted  for  nine  years, 
and  these  the  years  of  Goethe’s  ripest  thought  and 
experience,  when  he  had  arrived  at  his  final 
conclusions  regarding  life  and  art. 

Eckermann  had  had  a history-  which  commended 


THE  CONVERSATIONS  619 

him  to  Goethe  before  he  saw  him.  The  son  of  a pedlar, 
he  had  fought  his  way  to  knowledge  in  the  teeth 
of  difficulties  which  only  a strong  instinct  could 
have  enabled  him  to  overcome.  His  chief  interests 
were  in  poetry  and  art,  and  it  was  these  interests 
that  led  him  to  make  approaches  to  Goethe  as  the 
great  master  in  both.  Previous  to  their  first  inter- 
view (June  9,  1823)  he  had  sent  Goethe  a copy  of 
his  poems,  accompanying  it  with  an  account  of 
his  past  life.  Apparently  Goethe  at  once  recognized 
that  his  correspondent  possessed  precisely  the 
qualities  and  measure  of  attainments  that  might 
make  him  useful.  Eckermann  had  only  come  on 
a visit  to  see  the  object  of  his  worship,  but  Goethe 
persuaded  him  to  take  up  his  permanent  residence 
in  Weimar,  and  thus  began  the  relation  between 
them  which  has  made  their  names  inseparable.  We 
owe  Eckermann  a double  debt  in  connection  with 
Goethe ; his  record  of  Goethe’s  conversations  is 
a permanent  addition  to  the  literature  of  the  world, 
and  but  for  him  the  Second  Part  of  Faust  would 
never  have  been  completed.  Early  in  their  inter- 
course, Eckermann  conceived  the  idea  of  noting 
down  Goethe’s  conversation,  and  it  was  with  Goethe’s 
knowledge  and  consent  that  he  carried  out  the 
task.  Goethe  saw  some  specimens  of  Eckermann’ s 
reports  and  approved  of  them,  but  he  did  not 
supervise  the  completed  record,  which  was  not 
published  till  1836,  four  years  after  his  death.1  It 
is  generally  accepted,  however,  that  Eckermann 
was  a faithful  recorder.  He  fell  into  errors  of  fact, 
and  he  occasionally  misunderstood  what  he  heard, 
but  his  attitude  to  Goethe  was  too  reverential  to 
permit  him  to  take  liberties  with  the  oracle.  The 
analogy  between  Eckermann  and  Boswell  is  obvious, 
and  it  is  true  that  they  had  certain  characteristics 
in  common.  TI  ey  had  the  same  unquestioning 
faith  in  the  object  of  their  worship.  This,  however, 

1 In  two  subsequent  editions  Eckermann  corrected  and  added  to  the 
first. 


620  ECKERMANN 

did  not  prevent  either  from  obtruding  his  egotism 
and  self-complacency  in  a manner  which  has  made 
him  a somewhat  ridiculous  figure  in  the  eyes  of 
his  fellow-countrymen,  though  it  is  right  to  say  that 
Eckermann  is  less  absurd  than  his  Scottish  rival. 
Their  books,  however,  hardly  bear  comparison ; 
while  Boswell’s  Life  of  Johnson  is  a consummate 
work  of  art,  Eckermann’ s record  shows  no 
constructive  or  imaginative  power  such  as  marks 
a creative  artist.  While  Eckermann  makes  Goethe 
discourse,  Boswell  makes  Johnson  talk,  and  talk 
in  such  a manner  and  in  such  a variety  of  circum- 
stances that  his  record  is  a succession  of  dramatic 
scenes.  On  the  other  hand,  in  depth,  range,  and 
universality  of  appeal  the  utterances  of  Goethe  are 
beyond  the  reach  of  Johnson.  Johnson,  Carlyle 
wrote,  “ sees  and  knows  nothing  beyond  England.” 
Outside  his  own  people,  neither  his  personality  nor 
his  talk  has  interested  the  world,  whereas  the  thought 
of  Goethe,  which  has  the  idiosyncrasy  of  no  people 
and  the  impersonal  character  of  unbiassed  search 
for  truth,  remains  of  permanent  interest  to  every 
educated  mind.  With  no  remarkable  gifts,  there- 
fore, Eckermann  produced  a book  wdiich  condenses 
the  ripest  wisdom  and  experiences  of  one  of  the 
most  comprehensive  minds  the  world  has  known. 
And  to  Goethe  himself  he  did  a special  service, 
for,  with  the  exception  of  Faust,  no  book  of  his 
own  has  made  him  better  known  to  the  general 
public  than  the  work  of  Eckermann.  Nor  was  the 
gain  all  Goethe’s  ; the  desire  for  literary  distinction 
was  Eckermann’s  strongest  passion,  but  by  no  writing 
of  his  own  could  he  have  achieved  the  fame  which 
will  ever  be  his  as  the  worthy  reporter  of  his  master. 1 

1 Goethe  found  another  reporter  of  his  conversation  besides  Eckermann. 
This  was  Friedrich  Soret,  born  in  Russia,  but  of  Swiss  extraction. 
In  1822  Soret  was  appointed  tutor  to  the  heir  of  Carl  August,  and  became 
an  intimate  of  the  Goethe  family.  His  special  studies  were  mineralogy 
and  optics,  and  Goethe  warmly  acknowledged  his  debt  to  him  in  these 
subjects.  Soret  had  greater  independence  of  mind  than  Eckermann,  and 
his  reports  are  less  close  to  the  words  actually  spoken  by  Goethe.  He 


ULRIKE  VON  LEVETZOW  621 

According  to  Plato,  Sophocles  counted  it  a great 
gain  of  old  age  that  it  freed  him  from  the  enslave- 
ment of  love.  Goethe’s  old  age  brought  him  no 
such  immunity ; in  his  fifty-eighth  year  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Minna  Herzlieb,  and  in  his  sixty- 
sixth  with  Marianne  von  Willemer.  Now,  when 
he  had  passed  his  seventieth  year,  he  became  the 
victim  of  a passion  which,  if  we  may  judge  from  the 
moral  and  physical  effects  it  produced  in  him,  was 
as  violent  as  any  of  his  previous  experiences  of  a 
similar  nature.  It  was  his  last  experience  of  the 
kind,  and  he  signalized  it  by  a series  of  poems  which 
are  among  the  most  remarkable  he  ever  wrote. 

In  1821  he  chose  to  sojourn  in  Marienbad  in 
preference  to  Carlsbad  for  the  benefit  of  his  health, 
and,  while  resident  there,  had  much  intercourse 
with  a family  of  the  name  of  von  Levetzow.  It 
consisted  of  the  mother,  a widow,  and  three  daughters, 
the  eldest  of  whom  was  named  Ulrike.1  Goethe 
was  specially  attracted  by  Ulrike.  She  was  only 
seventeen,  and  was  in  no  way  remarkable  for  gifts 
or  attainments,  but  she  had  a winning  grace  of 
face  and  person,  with  an  amiability  and  freshness 
of  nature,  which  gave  her  all  the  charm  of  “ sweet 
seventeen.”  Goethe  saw  much  of  her  and  was  taken 
with  her  lively  responsiveness,  but  his  feeling  for 
her  did  not  apparently  go  beyond  an  emotion  of 
pleasure  in  her  company.  The  following  year  he 
revisited  Marienbad,  and  during  some  weeks’  further 
intercourse  with  her  (June  16— -July  24)  2 his  feelings 
grew  warmer.  On  parting  from  her  he  addressed 
to  her  a poem  ( Aeolsharfen ) in  which,  in  the  form 
of  a dialogue  between  them,  he  expresses  sentiments 


had  not,  like  Eckermann,  the  deliberate  intention  of  systematically  reporting 
Goethe,  and  he  only  recorded  such  conversations  as  specially  interested 
him.  He  eventually  handed  his  reports  to  Eokermann,  who  embodied 
them  in  his  book,  though  with  considerable  modifications. 

1 Goethe  had  previously  met  the  mother,  who  seemed  to  him  to  realize 
his  Pandora. 

2 The  Levetzows  left  Marienbad  on  July  24,  Goethe  remained  behind 
till  August  29. 


622  ULRIKE  VON  LEVETZOW 

which  suggest  the  relations  of  lovers.1  It  was  in 
the  summer  of  1823,  when  they  met  for  the 
third  time  at  Marienbad,  that  his  feeling  became 
an  overmastering  passion.  Was  the  passion  re- 
ciprocated ? Goethe  was  now  seventy-four  and 
Ulrike  nineteen,  but  such  disparity  of  age  has 
not  always  precluded  relations  that  have  led  to 
union.  The  evidences  as  to  Ulrike’ s feelings  are 
somewhat  conflicting.  If  we  are  to  believe  some  of 
her  reported  words,  she  never  regarded  Goethe  as 
other  than  an  old  man,  who,  great  and  famous  as 
he  was,  showed  her  so  much  kindness  and  attention 
that  it  was  impossible  for  her  not  to  be  drawn  to 
him.  On  the  other  hand,  she  is  reputed  to  have 
said  that,  had  her  mother  desired  it,  she  would  have 
been  willing  to  marry  him.  That  the  mother’s 
consent  was  asked,  either  by  Goethe  himself  or 
by  the  Duke  as  intermediary,  we  are  definitely  told, 
and  we  know  that  her  reply  amounted  to  a refusal. 
It  was  a bitter  disillusion  for  Goethe,  as  he  had  been 
so  confident  that  Ulrike  would  be  his  that  he  wrote 
to  his  family  to  announce  his  approaching  marriage. 
The  parting  took  place  at  Carlsbad,  whither  the 
Levetzows  had  gone,  Goethe  accompanying  them. 
There  was  apparently  no  estrangement,  and  Ulrike 
kissed  him  twice  when  he  took  what  was  to  be  his 
final  leave  of  her,  for  they  never  met  again. 

The  lesson  of  life  on  which  Goethe  most  insistently 
dwells  is  the  necessity  of  renunciation,  if  serenity 
is  to  be  won  and  duty  happily  discharged.  The 
lesson  had  been  forced  on  him  by  painful  experience 
at  mam7  periods  of  his  life.  Twice  in  his  advanced 
years  he  had  to  renounce  objects  on  which  he  had 
passionately  set  his  heart.  We  have  seen  the  mental 
struggle  it  cost  him  when  he  had  to  submit  to  the 
loss  of  Minna  Herzlieb — a struggle  which  found 
expression  in  the  lyric  intensity  of  Pandora,  and 
in  the  case  of  Ulrike  von  Levetzow  his  effort  at 

1 Over  this  poem  Goethe  inscribed  the  words  : “ Liebeschmerzlicher 
Zwiegesang  unmittelbar  nach  dem  Scheiden.” 


THE  PARTING  623 

self-recovery  was  of  the  nature  of  a convulsion.  In 
the  third  week  of  September  he  returned  to  Weimar 
in  a depth  of  depression  he  had  hardly  known  since 
the  days  of  Werther.  The  atmosphere  he  found  at 
home  was  not  such  as  to  soothe  or  cheer  him.  Both 
his  son  and  his  daughter-in-law  had  heard  with 
indignation  of  his  intended  marriage,  and  they 
made  no  concealment  of  their  feelings.  The  conduct 
of  the  son  to  his  father,  even  in  the  presence  of 
strangers,  was  rude  to  brutality.  Chancellor  von 
Muller,  who  saw  Goethe  frequently  at  this  time, 
describes  his  mental  condition  as  one  of  despair, 
and  expresses  his  surprise  that  a man  of  his  gifts 
and  character  should  have  been  so  overmastered 
by  any  passion. 

At  the  close  of  November  there  came  a visitor 
to  Weimar,  whose  special  gift,  according  to  Goethe’s 
own  expression,  “ first  restored  him  to  himself.” 
She  was  a Madame  Szymanowska,  a Polish  lady, 
pianist  to  the  Empress  of  Russia.  He  had  met  her 
in  Marienbad  during  his  late  residence  there,  and 
her  playing  had  profoundly  moved  him.  Of  late 
years  music  had  made  a special  appeal  to  him ; 
in  the  winter  of  1821  he  had  been  visited  by  Zelter 
and  his  musical  prodigy,  the  boy  Felix  Mendelssohn, 
whose  performances  on  the  piano  had  given  him 
some  days’  extraordinary  pleasure,  and  had  evoked 
a tenderness  and  playfulness  which  left  an  inefface- 
able impression  on  Mendelssohn.  Now,  in  his 
state  of  mental  distemperature,  the  playing  of 
Szymanowska  exercised  a spell  which  held  him 
for  hours  in  rapt  absorption.  But  the  strain  on 
his  emotions  during  the  last  months  had  overtaxed 
his  physical  strength,  and  shortly  after  her  departure 
there  came  a collapse  which  for  a few  weeks  seriously 
alarmed  his  friends.  His  powers  of  recovery,  how- 
ever, seem  to  have  been  as  remarkable  as  his 
susceptibility  to  violent  disorders,  and  by  the 
beginning  of  December  he  was  able  to  enjoy  a visit 
from  Zelter,  the  most  exhilarating^  of  men.  His 


624 


ULRIKE  VON  LEVETZOW 


passion  for  Ulrike  had  spent  itself  and  renunciation 
had  come  at  length  ; though  at  a later  period  of 
life  than  Milton,  he  had  attained  “ calm  of  life, 
all  passion  spent.” 

The  Trilogie  der  Leidenschaft  is  the  remarkable 
memorial  of  Goethe’s  last  passion  for  a woman.  It 
consists  of  three  distinct  pieces,  An  Werther,  Elegie, 
and  Aussohnung  or  Reconciliation.  They  were  not 
produced  in  the  order  in  which  he  subsequently 
arranged  them.  Aussohnung  was  written  first  and 
was  prompted  by  the  playing  of  Madame 
Szymanowska  in  Marienbad  at  the  time  when 
Ulrike  was  lost  to  him ; the  Elegie  was  mainly 
composed  on  his  journey  home  from  Carlsbad ; 
and  An  Werther  not  till  the  following  year.  The 
link  between  the  three  poems  is  his  passion  for 
Ulrike,  and  its  renunciation.  Written  as  an  intro- 
duction to  the  jubilee  edition  of  Werther,  the  first 
piece  in  the  Trilogie  associates  the  fate  of  Werther 
with  his  loss  of  Ulrike,  for  whom,  as  Goethe  told 
Eckermann,  some  of  his  former  passion  still  remained. 
The  central  poem,  the  Elegie,  is  the  most  important 
of  the  three,  and  for  Goethe  it  remained  permanent^ 
a hallowed  memory  as  the  expression  of  one  of  the 
deepest,  richest,  and  most  heart-searching  experiences 
of  his  life.  It  consists  of  twenty-three  stanzas  in 
which  he  recalls  the  successive  phases  of  emotion 
that  had  been  roused  by  his  relations  to  Ulrike. 
In  the  expression  of  passionate  regret  for  what 
he  had  lost  it  stands  alone  among  Goethe’s  poems. 
Yet  it  is  the  passion  of  age  and  not  of  youth,  for 
the  passion  is  blended  throughout  with  a reflective- 
ness that  takes  full  account  of  the  loss  and  gain 
that  had  accrued  to  him  from  his  abandonment  to 
the  object  of  his  love.  The  poem  concludes  in 
the  despairing  mood  of  Werther — 

Mir  ist  das  All,  ich  bin  mir  selbst  verloren, 

Der  ich  noch  erst  den  Gottern  Liebling  war  ; 

Sie  priiften  mich,  verliehen  mir  Pandoren, 

Soe  reich  an  Giitern,  reicher  an  Gefahr  ; 


TRILOGIE  DER  LEIDEN SCH AFT  625 

Sie  drangten  mich  zum  gabeseligen  Munde, 

Sie  trennen  mich,  und  richten  mich  zu  Grunde. 

To  end  on  such  a note  was  contrary  both  to 
Goethe’s  artistic  instincts  and  to  his  general  attitude 
to  life,  and  this  may  have  been  his  reason  for  closing 
the  Trilogie  with  Aussohnung  which  came  first  in 
date  of  composition.  Placed  where  it  stands,  it 
may  be  said  to  have  a double  appropriateness ; 
ethically  and  artistically  it  is  a satisfying  pendant 
to  the  Elegie,  the  burden  of  which  is  despair,  and 
it  records  what  we  have  seen  to  be  the  actual  fact, 
that  by  music  Goethe  was  “ restored  to  himself.” 

Da  schwebt  hervor  Musik  mit  Engelschwingen, 
Verflicht  zu  Millionen  Ton’  um  Tone, 

Des  Menschen  Wesen  durch  und  durch  zu  dringen, 

Zu  uberfiillen  ihn  mit  ew’  ger  Schone  ; 

Das  Auge  netzt  sich,  fiihlt  im  hohern  Sehnen 
Den  Gotter-wert  der  Tone,  wie  der  Thranen. 

Und  so  das  Herz  erleichtert  merkt  behende, 

Dass  es  noch  lebt  und  schlagt  und  mochte  schlagen, 
Zum  reichsten  Dank  der  iiberreichen  Spende, 

Sich  selbst  erwiedernd  willig  darzutragen. 

Da  fiihlte  sich — o dass  es  ewig  bliebe  ! — 

Das  Doppel-gliick  der  Tone  wie  der  Liebe. 

Th e Trilogie  der  Leidenschaft  is  the  most  memorable 
of  the  poems  belonging  to  the  years  1819-24, 
but  we  have  other  short  pieces  of  the  same  period 
that  call  for  passing  reference.  As  has  been  said, 
science  at  this  time  absorbed  more  of  Goethe’s  atten- 
tion than  literature,  and  he  composed  a number  of 
short  poems  in  which  he  expounds  the  philosophy 
of  nature  at  which  he  had  arrived.  Such  are  the 
two  entitled  Aller dings  and  Ultimatum,  in  which 
he  satirizes  the  materialistic  conception  of  nature. 
A new  science  which  now  keenly  interested  him 
was  meteorology,  and  he  read  with  lively  curiosity 
the  works  of  the  English  chemist,  Luke  Howard, 
a pioneer  in  that  subject.  The  speculations  of 
Howard  seem  to  have  appealed  to  him  both  as  a 

VOL.  II.  Q 


626  POEMS  OF  THE  PERIOD 

poet  and  as  a student  of  nature,  and  he  wrote  a 
series  of  short  pieces  in  which  he  expounds  in  highly 
figurative  language  Howard’s  explanations  of  the 
different  kinds  of  clouds.  Better  known  is  another 
poem  produced  during  the  same  period,  the 
exhilarating  Wanderlied , beginning  “ Von  dem  Berge 
zu  den  Hiigeln,”  which  subsequently  appeared  in 
the  Wanderjahre  and  which  Carlyle’s  translation 
has  made  familiar  to  English  readers. 

Next  in  importance  to  the  Trilogie  der  Leidenschaft 
among  the  poems  of  this  period,  however,  is  that 
entitled  Faria.  For  forty  years,  Goethe  told 
Eckermann,  he  had  carried  its  theme  in  his  head 
and  heart,  so  that  it  is  not  a production  prompted 
by  a suggestion  of  the  moment,  but  is  rather  the 
expression  of  a dominating  thought.  It,  also,  is 
in  the  form  of  a trilogy,  its  three  parts  being 
respectively  entitled,  Des  Paria  Gebet,  Legende,  and 
Dank  des  Paria.  In  the  first  part  a Pariah  implores 
Brahma  for  a miracle  which  will  prove  that  he  has 
regard  to  Pariahs  as  well  as  to  Brahmins,  and  the 
tale  told  in  the  gruesomely  tragic  legend  is  the 
answer  to  his  prayer.  A Brahmin’s  wife  was  in 
the  habit  of  going  for  water  from  the  sacred  Ganges. 
She  has  no  need  of  a vessel,  as  the  water  formed 
itself  in  her  hand  into  a crystal  globe  which  she 
carried  home.  One  morning  on  the  way  to  the 
river  she  sees  the  figure  of  a divine  youth  descending 
from  the  heavens,  and  cannot  tear  her  eyes  from 
the  vision.  With  conflicting  feelings  she  proceeds 
to  the  river,  but  to  her  dismay  she  finds  that  the 
water  eludes  her  grasp.  On  her  appearance  before 
her  husband,  her  looks  betray  her,  and,  conducting 
her  to  the  hill  of  death,  he  severs  her  head  from 
her  body  with  his  sword.  Returning  to  the  house 
with  the  bloody  weapon,  he  meets  his  son  who, 
on  learning  that  it  is  his  mother  who  has  been  slain, 
convinces  his  father  of  her  innocence  by  the  fact 
that  the  blood  on  the  blade  has  not  dried.  He  is 
on  the  point  of  rushing  to  the  hill  of  death  with  the 


PARIA 


627 

intention  of  slaying  himself  with  the  same  fatal 
sword,  when  the  father,  convinced  of  his  wife’s 
innocence,  bids  him  place  her  head  on  her  body, 
which,  touched  by  the  sword,  will  arise  and  follow 
him.  And  now  comes  the  part  of  the  legend  which 
embodies  the  idea  that  had  been  lodged  so  long 
in  Goethe’s  mind.  The  son  attaches  his  mother’s 
head  to  the  body  of  a guilty  woman  who  had  suffered 
a similar  death,  and  the  mother,  arising  and  assuming 
gigantic  proportions,  addresses  her  son  in  words 
which  are  meant  to  convey  the  import  of  her  fate. 
For  endless  ages  she  must  henceforth  live  with  her 
head,  as  a Brahmin,  in  heaven,  but  with  her  bod}^, 
as  a Pariah,  on  earth.  The  temptation  that  ended 
in  her  death  was  sent  by  Brahma,  but  with  beneficent 
intention,  and  in  the  following  lines  she  somewhat 
darkly  expresses  Brahma’s  goodwill : — 

Immer  wird  es  wieder  kehren 
Immer  steigen,  immer  sinken, 

Sich  verdiistern,  sich  verklaren, 

So  hat  Brahma  dies  gewollt. 

Er  gebot  ja  buntem  Fittich, 

Klarem  Antlitz,  schlanken  Gliedern, 
Gottbch-einzigem  Erscheinen, 

Mich  zu  prufen,  zu  verfuhren  ; 

Denn  von  oben  kommt  Verfiihrung, 

Wenn’s  den  Gottern  so  beliebt. 

Und  so  soil  ich,  die  Brahmane, 

Mit  dem  Haupt  im  Himmel  weilend, 

Fiihlen,  Paria,  dieser  Erde 
Niederziebende  Gewalt. 

Sohn,  ich  sende  dich  dem  Vater  ! 

Troste  ! — Nicbt  ein  traurig  Biissen, 

Stumpfes  Harren,  stolz  Verdienen 
Halt’  eucb  in  der  Wildniss  fest  ; 

Wandert  aus  durcb  alle  Welten, 

Wandelt  hin  durch  alle  Zeiten, 

Und  verkiindet  auch  Geringstem  : 

Dass  ihn  Brahma  droben  hort ! 


In  the  concluding  part  of  the  trilogy  the  Pariah 


628  ATTITUDE  TO  CHRISTIANITY 


pours  forth  his  gratitude  for  the  revelation  of 
Brahma’s  all-embracing  mercy  : 

Grosser  Brahma  1 nun  erkenn’  ich, 

Dass  du  Schopfer  bist  der  Welten  ! 

Dich  als  meinen  Herrscher  nenn’  ich, 

Denn  du  lassest  alle  gelten. 

In  a short  paper,  entitled  Die  Drei  Paria,1  Goethe 
has  stated  somewhat  more  explicitly  the  import  of 
the  Legend ; mankind,  he  says,  need  for  their 
salvation  a mediator  who  combines  in  his  own  person 
the  highest  and  the  lowest.  Here  we  have  an 
approach  to  the  Christian  conception  of  redemption  ; 
and,  in  truth,  of  late  years  a change  had  been  taking 
place  in  Goethe’s  attitude  to  Christianity.  In  the 
period  that  immediately  followed  his  return  from 
the  Italian  journey  he  had  flaunted  his  paganism, 
and  openly  told  his  friends  that  he  held  with  Lucretius 
on  the  question  of  immortality.  But  in  a letter 
written  in  1823  we  have  a remarkable  attestation 
to  his  altered  opinions.  The  letter  was  occasioned 
by  a communication  he  had  received  from  a lady 
with  whom  he  had  had  a strange  passage  in  his 
youth — the  Countess  von  Stolberg  (now  Countess 
von  Bernstorff),  who  in  her  enthusiasm  for  the 
author  of  Werther,  had  opened  an  anonjTmous 
correspondence  with  him  which  passed,  on  his  side, 
into  rhapsody.  In  her  old  age  she  was  as  intense 
in  her  religious  opinions  as  she  had  been  in  her 
youthful  sentimentalism,  and  in  her  letter  to  Goethe 
she  expressed  her  grave  concern  at  his  lost  condition 
and  urged  him  to  think  of  his  eternal  welfare.  He 
took  her  letter  in  good  part,  and  the  conclusion  of 
his  reply,  if  it  was  the  utterance  of  his  real  thoughts, 
shows  that  he  no  longer  held  the  Lucretian  doctrine. 
“ All  my  life  long,”  he  wrote,  “ I have  dealt  honestly 
by  myself  and  others,  and  in  all  my  earthly  striving 
have  alwaj'S  looked  to  what  is  highest ; you  and 

1 The  three  were  Casimir  Delavigne’s  Le  Paria,  Michael  Beer's  Der 
Paria  and  his  own  poem. 


UNRESTING  ACTIVITY  629 

yours  have  done  likewise.  Let  us  then  work  so 
long  as  it  is  day ; for  others  a sun  will  also  shine, 
they  will  play  their  part,  and  meantime  a clearer 
light  will  shine  for  us.  And  so  let  us  abide  untroubled 
regarding  the  future.  In  our  Father’s  house  are 
many  mansions ; and  since  here  he  has  prepared 
for  us  such  a cheerful  abode,  so,  of  a certainty, 
will  provision  be  made  for  both  of  us  yonder ; 
perhaps  we  shall  attain  there  what  we  have  missed 
here — to  know  each  other  face  to  face,  and,  there- 
fore, love  with  a deeper  love.  Think  of  me  in  calm 
confidence.” 

Goethe  produced  no  poetical  work  on  a large 
scale  during  the  years  1818-24,  but  in  other  fields 
they  were  years  of  industrious  effort.  As  has  been 
said,  it  was  science  that  chiefly  engaged  him. 
Impelled  by  his  insatiable  curiosity  regarding  the 
universal  processes  of  nature,  he  gave  his  attention 
in  turn  to  optics,  geology,  botany,  zoology, 
anthropology,  and  meteorology,  in  each  case  care- 
fully noting  the  results  of  his  observations.  This 
need  of  varying  the  subjects  that  occupied  him 
was  characteristic  of  him  at  all  periods  of  his  life. 
During  the  period  before  us  he  worked  successively 
at  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  the  Wander jahre,  his 
Second  Residence  in  Rome,  the  Campaign  in  France, 
the  Siege  of  Mainz,  and  at  the  correspondence 
between  himself  and  Schiller.  At  the  same  time 
wide  reading  went  along  with  original  production, 
and  it  is  interesting  to  note  his  growing  preoccupation 
with  foreign  literatures.  A dominating  idea  with 
him  in  his  last  years  was  the  conception  of  a world- 
literature,  to  which  every  nation  should  make 
its  individual  contribution.  “ Study  of  foreign 
languages  and  recognition  of  our  neighbours,”  he 
wrote  to  Knebel,  “is  to  be  furthered  that  all  may 
be  gathered  together  as  one  flock  under  one 
shepherd.” 

His  own  reading  in  foreign  literatures  was 
sufficiently  extensive.  Revived  discussion  on  the 


630  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

unity  of  the  Iliad  led  him  to  a close  study  of  Homer 
to  whom  in  youth  he  had  owed  so  much.  He 
re-read  Wolf’s  Prolegomena  and,  to  obtain  a clear 
conception  of  the  Iliad  as  a whole,  he  re-drafted 
a scheme  of  the  poem  which  he  had  written  in  the 
days  of  his  association  with  Schiller.  Among  modern 
literatures  he  kept  in  touch  with  French,  Spanish, 
Italian,  and  English.  He  hailed  the  appearance 
of  Manzoni,  of  whose  Carmagnola  he  wrote  an 
appreciative  notice,  which,  by  Manzoni’s  own 
testimony,  made  the  latter’s  reputation  among  his 
countrymen.  But  it  was  English  literature  which 
at  this  time  chiefly  interested  him. 1 

At  various  periods  of  his  life  Goethe  pronounced 
judgments  on  English  writers  which,  interesting  as 
they  are  as  coming  from  him,  may  conveniently  be 
brought  together  here.2  Some  of  these  judgments, 
it  will  be  seen,  confirm  our  own,  but  others  are 
sufficiently  startling.  As  Sir  John  Seeley  has  pointed 
out,  Goethe  may  claim  to  have  been  the  first  to 
appreciate  Shakespeare’s  real  greatness,  inasmuch  as 
he  anticipated  both  Sclilegel  and  Coleridge.  Goethe’s 
opinions  regarding  Shakespeare  as  a dramatist  changed 
in  the  course  of  his  own  development,  but  his  abiding 
attitude  to  him  is  expressed  in  his  remark  to 
Eckermann  in  his  latest  years  : Shakespeare  “ is  a 
being  of  a higher  order,  to  whom  I look  up,  and 
whom  I hold  in  reverence.”  At  manjT  points 
Goethe  was  antipathetic  to  Milton,  and  he 
characteristically  found  the  subject  of  Paradise 
Lost  “ abominable,  externally  plausible,  but  inwardly 
worm-eaten,  and  hollow  ” — words  almost  identical 
with  those  which  he  applies  to  the  Divine  Comedy. 
On  the  other  hand,  for  Samson  Agonistes  he  had  a 
deep  admiration.  “ I can  cite  no  work,”  he  wrote 

1 Carl  August  had  an  agent  in  London  who  supplied  him  with  English 
books. 

2 There  are  two  advantages,  Goethe  once  remarked,  which  English 
poets  have  over  those  of  all  other  countries : as  a double  source  of  inspira- 
tion, they  have  Shakespeare  and  the  sea. 


POETS  AND  NOVELISTS  631 

to  Zelter,  “ which  has  so  closely  reproduced  the 
spirit  and  manner  of  ancient  Greek  tragedy,  and 
equally  by  its  power  and  by  its  execution  deserves  a 
like  acknowledgment.”  An  English  writer  who  had 
a peculiar  attraction  for  him  was  Sterne,  and,  high 
as  the  rank  we  at  home  assign  to  Sterne,  Goethe’s 
estimate  of  him  may  seem  somewhat  exaggerated. 
He  regarded  him  as  a Befreier — a liberator  of  the 
human  spirit  from  pedantry  and  convention. 
“ Yorick  Sterne,”  he  boldly  affirms,  “ is  the  finest 
spirit  who  ever  expressed  himself  in  literature ; 
whoever  reads  him  feels  himself  freed  and  ennobled  ; 
his  humour  is  inimitable,  and  it  is  not  every  kind 
of  humour  that  frees  the  soul.”  Goldsmith  was 
another  writer  to  whom  Goethe  acknowledges  a 
permanent  moral  debt,  dating  from  his  twenty- 
second  year,  when  Herder  made  him  acquainted 
with  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  What  he  found  in 
the  Vicar  was  a humane  morality,  “ without  a 
trace  of  cant  or  pedantry.”  Macpherson’s  Ossian 
was  a passing  obsession  of  his  youth  which  he  gave 
to  Werther,  but  his  mature  judgment  upon  it  was 
virtually  that  of  Wordsworth.  In  Burns  he 
recognized  “ one  of  the  greatest  poetical  spirits 
of  the  eighteenth  century,”  who  owed  his  greatness 
to  the  double  circumstance  that  he  inherited  a 
living  tradition  of  song  and  found  a responsive 
audience — circumstances,  Goethe  adds,  which  had 
not  favoured  his  own  production.  It  is  significant 
that  of  the  English  poets  who  flourished  in  the 
opening  of  the  nineteenth  century,  Shelley,  Keats, 
Wordsworth,  and  Coleridge  were  unknown  to  him. 
In  an  unhappy  moment  Crabb  Robinson  read  to 
him  Coleridge’s  Fire,  Famine,  and  Slaughter,  and 
Robinson  records  that  “ his  praise  was  faint.” 
Moore  he  did  not  hold  of  much  account,  dismissing 
him  with  the  remark  that  he  might  have  “ a few 
laurel  leaves  in  a ragout.”  In  Campbell  he  found 
“ strength,  combined  with  great  natural  simplicity 
of  style,  and  a power  of  exciting  high  emotions. 


632  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

independent  of  brilliant  epithets  and  meretricious 
ornaments.” 

But,  of  his  English  contemporaries,  Scott  and 
Byron  were  the  two  writers  who  chiefly  interested 
him.  Of  Scott’s  poetry  he  does  not  speak,  but  he 
frequently  expressed  his  opinion  of  the  novels, 
and,  as  they  are  reported,  his  judgments  are 
conflicting.  The  estimate  of  them  most  generally 
quoted  is  that  recorded  by  Eckermann.  “ All  is 
great  [in  the  Waverley  Novels],  material,  import, 
characters,  execution;  and  then  what  infinite  diligence 
in  the  preparatory  studies  ! What  truth  of  detail 
in  the  execution  ! ” On  the  other  hand,  Chancellor 
von  Muller  reports  him  as  pronouncing  a much 
less  favourable  judgment.  “ I have  read  two  of 
Walter  Scott’s  novels,”  Muller  makes  him  say,  “ and 
now  I know  what  he  aims  at  and  what  he  can  do. 
He  would  always  entertain  me,  but  I can  learn 
nothing  from  him  ; I have  time  only  for  the  very 
best.”  1 There  can  be  little  doubt,  however,  that 
Goethe’s  judgment  on  the  Waverley  Novels,  as 
reported  by  Eckermann,  expresses  his  abiding 
opinion  ; since  in  the  Conversations  he  is  repeatedly 
represented  as  speaking  of  Scott  with  the  highest 
admiration. 2 

Great  as  was  Goethe’s  admiration  of  Scott,  he 
did  not  put  him  in  the  same  category  with  Byron 
as  a creative  force.  “ Byron  alone  I put  in  the 
same  category  as  myself,”  he  said  to  von  Miiller  ; 
“ Walter  Scott  is  nothing  compared  with  Byron.” 
Byron  was,  in  truth,  the  last  of  the  many  spiritual 
influences  under  which  Goethe  successively  came 
in  the  course  of  his  long  life.3  “Goethe,”  Tieck 

1 Muller’s  report  is  of  date,  1823  ; that  of  Eckermann,  1831.  Another 
reporter  of  Goethe  says  that  he  found  him  “ not  very  enthusiastic  about 
the  ‘ Great  Unknown.’  ” Goethe  read  Scott’s  Life  of  Napoleon  with  intense 
interest,  and  spent  the  evenings  of  a whole  winter  over  it. 

2 In  July,  1827,  Goethe  received  a long  letter  from  Scott,  which  gave 
him  great  pleasure.  In  this  letter  Scott  states  that  he  is  sending  Goethe 
his  Life  of  Napoleon. 

:Goethe  admitted  to  Eckermann  that  the  Elegie  in  the  Trilogie  dcr 
Leidenschaft  had  been  influenced  by  Byron. 


SCOTT  AND  BYRON  633 

remarked  to  Crabb  Robinson,  “ is  infatuated  about 
Byron,”  and,  according  to  Eckermann,  Goethe’s 
feeling  towards  his  young  contemporary  was  that 
of  a father  to  a son.  It  is  interesting,  therefore,  to 
consider  what,  in  Goethe’s  opinion,  was  Byron’s 
place  among  the  poets  of  the  world.  In  one  startling 
remark,  reported  by  Eckermann,  he  seems  to  place 
Byron  above  Shakespeare.1  As  other  comments  of 
his  on  Byron  show,  however,  this  could  not  have 
been  his  meaning.  “ Compared  with  Pope,”  von 
Muller  reports  Goethe  as  saying,  “ Byron  is  a giant ; 
compared  with  Shakespeare  he  is  a dwarf.”  Else- 
where he  distinctly  marks  what  he  considered 
Byron’s  limitations.  There  is  his  well-known  dictum 
that  “ the  moment  he  [Byron]  reflects,  he  is  a child.” 
To  a similar  effect  is  the  following  deliberate 
judgment.  “ Only  when  Byron  expresses  the  results 
of  his  direct  observation  is  his  judgment  sound  and 
clear.  Reflection  is  not  his  strong  point ; his 
judgments  and  combinations  when  they  proceed 
from  reflection  are  those  of  a child.”  What  Goethe 
seems  to  have  found  distinctive  in  Byron  was  a 
mysterious  force  which  made  him  a unique  figure 
not  only  among  his  contemporaries,  but  among 
poets  of  all  ages.  In  a short  paper  which  he  devoted 
to  his  memory,  he  expressly  makes  this  claim  for 
him.  “ Byron’s  like,”  he  there  saj^s,  “ is  not  to 
be  found  in  past  centuries  ; the  elements  necessary 
for  appraising  such  a career  are  wholly  wanting.” 

As  Byron  was  ignorant  of  German,2  he  could 
have  no  appreciation  of  Goethe’s  work  as  a whole, 

1 Goethe’s  words,  as  reported  by  Eckermann,  are:  “Die  Englander  mogen 
auch  von  Byron  halten  was  sie  wollen,  so  ist  doch  soviet  gewiss,  das  sie 
keinen  Poeten  aufzuweisen  haben,  der  ihm  zu  vergleichen  ware.  Er  ist 
anders  als  alle  iibrigen  und  meistenteils  grosser.”  Matthew  Arnold  (Intro- 
duction to  his  Selections  from  Wordsworth)  maintains  that  the  expression 
der  ihm  zu  vergleichen  ware,  rightly  understood,  does  not  imply  that  Byron 
was  a greater  poet  than  Shakespeare.  He  translated  the  phrase  “who  is 
his  parallel.” 

2 Monk  Lewis  translated  the  First  Part  of  Faust  to  him  by  word  of 
mouth.  The  opening  verses  of  the  Bride  of  Ahydos,  beginning,  “ Know  ye 
the  land  of  the  cypress  and  myrtle,”  are  an  imitation  of  Mignon’s  Song. 


634  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

but  he  fully  recognized  his  supreme  place  in  the 
contemporary  literature  of  Europe.  He  dedicated 
Werner  and  Sardanapalus  to  him ; and  the  latter 
dedication  is  from  “ a literary  vassal  to  his  liege 
lord.”  In  the  spring  of  1823,  when  on  the  eve  of 
starting  for  Greece,  Byron  sent  Goethe  a few  lines 
introducing  to  him  a Mr.  Sterling,  and  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  them  Goethe  responded  by  some  stanzas 
which  Byron  received  at  Leghorn.  The  last  of  these 
contains  a note  of  warning  which  Byron  in  one  of 
his  petulant  moods  might  have  resented.1 

Wohl  sei  ihm  doch,  wenn  er  sick  selbst  empfindet ! 

Er  wage  selbst  sich  hochbegliickt  zu  nennen, 

Wenn  Musenkraft  die  Schmerzen  iiberwindet  ; 

Und  wie  ich  ihn  erkannt,  mog’  er  sich  kennen. 

On  the  very  day  he  finally  sailed  for  Greece, 
Byron  answered  Goethe’s  communication  and  in 
terms  that  could  not  have  been  more  pleasing  to 
the  recipient.  It  would  ill  become  him,  he  wrote, 
“ to  exchange  verses  with  one  who,  for  fifty  years, 
has  been  the  undisputed  sovereign  of  European 
literature,”  and  in  the  bustle  of  his  departure  he 
must  content  himself  with  his  sincere  acknowledg- 
ments in  “ hasty  prose.”  Should  he  return  from 
Greece,  he  added,  he  would  visit  Weimar  and  pay 
Goethe  the  homage  of  one  of  the  man}’  millions 
of  his  admirers. 2 Had  the  meeting  ever  taken 
place,  Goethe  would  assuredly  have  held  it  as  an 
event  second  only  in  interest  to  his  meeting  with 
Napoleon. 

The  homage  of  Scott  and  Byron  shows  that  there 
were  then  persons  in  this  country  who  recognized 
Goethe’s  supremacy  in  European  literature,  but 
the  professional  critics  of  the  time  did  not  share 

1 He  gave  rein  to  one  of  these  petulant  moods  in  a Dedication  to  Marino 
Faliero  (1820),  which  fortunately  was  not  transmitted.  Moore  calls  it 
a “ very  singular  dedication,”  written  in  the  poet’s  “ most  whimsical  and 
mocking  mood.”  It  is  printed  in  Moore’s  Life  of  Byron. 

2 Goethe  says  that  he  treasured  Byron’s  letter  as  one  of  his  most  valued 
possessions. 


CARLYLE  635 

their  opinion.  What  strikes  us,  indeed,  in  their 
criticisms  is  their  complete  unconsciousness  of  what 
the  world  has  come  to  acknowledge,  that  Goethe 
is  one  of  the  master-minds  of  the  race.  One  critic, 
however,  appeared  who,  if  he  failed  to  interpret 
adequately  Goethe’s  work  as  a whole,  at  least 
realized  its  greatness.  In  1824  Carlyle  sent  Goethe 
his  translation  of  Wilhelm  Meister,  and  there  began 
that  intercourse  between  them  which,  on  Carlyle’s 
part,  was  that  of  a grateful  worshipper.  It  was  a 
genuine  pleasure  to  Goethe  to  have  found  an  inter- 
preter who  endeavoured  to  place  him  in  his  true 
light  before  the  eyes  of  a great  people  for  whom  he 
had  a sincere  admiration.  But  he  had  also  a dis- 
interested reason  for  attaching  high  importance  to 
Carlyle  as  an  interpreter  of  German  thought  to 
England — a reason  which  he  thus  states  in  a remark 
to  Eckermann.  “It  is  in  the  sphere  of  aesthetics 
that  we  Germans  are  weakest,  and  we  may  have  to 
wait  long  till  we  meet  with  such  another  as  Carlyle. 
It  is  pleasant  to  see  such  close  intercourse  between 
the  French,  English,  and  Germans,  as  we  are  thus 
in  a position  to  correct  the  faults  of  each  other.” 
It  was  therefore  as  his  fellow-worker  in  the  endeavour 
to  realize  the  conception  of  a world-literature  that 
Goethe  especially  valued  Carlyle,  and  he  found  in 
him,  moreover,  precisely  the  qualities  to  which  he 
himself  attached  most  importance  in  an  interpreter 
of  national  thought. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 
1825—1831 

On  the  completion  of  the  Second  Part  of  Faust  in 
June,  1831,  Goethe  said  to  Eckermann : “ What 
remains  to  me  of  life  I may  now  regard  as  a free 
gift,  and  it  really  matters  little  what  I do,  or  whether 
I do  anything  ” ; and  to  the  same  purport,  in  the 
November  following,  he  wrote  to  Zelter  that  he 
was  leading  only  “ a testamentary  and  codicillary 
existence.”  By  the  summer  of  1831,  therefore,  he 
regarded  his  work  as  done.  He  had  still  some 
eight  months  to  live,  and  for  his  nature  complete 
abstinence  from  toil  of  every  kind  was  impossible. 
He  touched  up  the  completed  Second  Part  of  Faust, 
wrote  a few  short  poems,  and,  so  far  as  strength 
would  permit,  continued  his  scientific  investigations, 
but  creative  work  in  prose  or  verse  he  ceased  to 
attempt. 

He  had  well  earned  the  repose  of  the  few  months 
that  remained  to  him,  for  at  no  period  had  he  been 
more  strenuously  productive  than  in  the  years 
between  1825  and  1831.  During  these  years, 
besides  labour  of  minor  importance,  he  saw  through 
the  press  the  forty  volumes  of  his  collected  works, 
composed  the  narrative  of  his  second  residence 
in  Rome,  and  finished  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,1 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre,  and  the  Second  Part 
of  Faust.  Such  persistent  creative  effort  was  some- 
thing new  in  Goethe,  but  it  had  an  efficient  cause. 
All  his  life,  as  he  so  frequently  tells  us,  some  external 

1 He  did  not  finish  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  till  October,  1831. 

636 


MANNER  OF  LIFE 


637 


impulse  was  necessary  to  incite  him  to  production, 
and  the  external  incitement  during  these  years 
was  his  approaching  end. 

The  conditions  under  which  he  lived  during  his 
closing  years  favoured  uninterrupted  industry.  His 
growing  infirmities  put  an  end  to  his  expeditions 
to  distant  watering-places ; Jena  he  visited,  but 
twice  after  1825,  in  each  case  only  for  a day  ; and 
even  in  Weimar  he  paid  few  calls  on  his  neighbours. 
He  still  retained  the  direction  of  education  and  of 
the  roads  and  buildings  in  the  Duchy,  but  it  was 
in  his  own  house  that  he  mostly  came  in  contact 
with  the  outer  world.  He  had  daily  visitors,  friends 
in  Weimar  or  strangers  distinguished  by  rank  or 
achievement,  who  came  in  a steady  stream  as  to  a 
place  of  pilgrimage.  His  familiars  were  Eckermann, 
Soret,  Meyer,  Chancellor  von  Muller,  the  Chief 
Architect  Coudra}^,  and  his  physician,  Dr.  Vogel, 
all  men  of  special  gifts,  whose  various  interests 
provided  a wide  range  of  discussion  and  conversation. 
In  the  intimacy  of  talk  with  these  friends  his  gifts 
and  idiosyncrasies  found  their  free  scope.  His 
versatility  of  interests  and  variability  of  humour 
amazed  all  who  came  into  close  intercourse  with 
him.  “ The  world  will  come  to  believe  that  there 
had  not  been  one  but  many  Goethes,”  wrote  Felix 
Mendelssohn,  and  Goethe  told  von  Muller  that  those 
who  held  intercourse  with  him  must  put  up  with 
his  occasional  rudeness  and  caprice.  His  prevailing 
mood,  however,  was  the  mild  serenity  of  age,  though 
he  had  days  of  deep  depression  when  he  maintained 
a sombre  silence.  At  other  times,  he  would  display 
all  the  vivaciousness  of  youth,  pouring  forth  banter, 
irony,  wild  paradox,  and  occasionally  startling  liis 
listeners  by  outbursts  of  passionate  indignation 
against  persons  or  things  that  were  distasteful  to 
him.  The  reports  of  strangers  who  came  to  visit 
him  bear  testimony  to  the  same  variability  of 
temper.1  Some  left  him  with  the  impression  of 

1 It  is  interesting  to  note  what  Southey,  who  was  as  absorbed  a student 


638  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

his  modesty,  affability,  and  genuine  kindness  of 
heart,  while  others  found  him  proud,  cold,  and 
self-absorbed.  To  English-speaking  visitors  he  seems 
to  have  shown  his  best  side ; Crabb  Robinson, 
Bancroft,  Thackeray  and  others  all  attest  his  kindly 
and  courteous  demeanour  towards  them. 

It  was  thus  within  his  own  four  walls  that 
Goethe  lived  his  life  during  his  closing  years.  The 
house,  his  “ monastery,”  as  he  liked  to  call  it,  was 
that  which  Carl  August  had  presented  to  him  in 
1789,  and  in  the  course  of  years  its  interior  had 
become  the  external  expression  of  its  owner’s  tastes 
and  affinities.  To  modern  eyes  it  seems  a humble 
habitation  for  a Minister  of  State,  but  in  Goethe’s 
day  it  was  regarded  as  a magnificent  abode — a 
“palace,”  Jean  Paul  called  it.1  The  entrance,  the 
most  imposing  part  of  it  and  out  of  proportion  to 
the  rest  of  the  building,  is  by  a spacious  staircase 
(“  such  a staircase  ! ” exclaims  Jean  Paul),  and  on 
the  threshold  to  which  it  leads  is  inscribed  the  word, 
Salve.  The  public  rooms  were  the  hall,  the  Juno 
room, — so-called  from  its  most  prominent  object,  a 
colossal  bust  of  Juno, — the  reception-room,  and, 
opposite  to  it,  three  smaller  apartments.  In  all  of 
them  are  art  collections  which  Goethe  had  gathered 
in  the  course  of  his  life  and  which  are  a record  of 
his  personal  preferences — busts  of  famous  men, 
statuettes,  cartoons,  etchings,  vases,  gems,  and  various 
other  artistic  objects.  More  interesting  and  more 
impressive  to  the  student  of  Goethe  are  the  three 
private  apartments  where  he  lived  and  worked, 
for  here  it  is  the  man  and  not  the  connoisseur  who 


as  Goethe  and  as  sensitive  to  impressions,  says  of  “ devastators  of  the 
day,”  as  Emerson  calls  them.  “ I know  very  well  in  what  different  lights 
I myself  must  appear  to  different  people,  who  see  me  but  once,  or  whose 
acquaintance  with  me  is  very  slight : not  a few  go  away  with  the  notion 
that  they  have  seen  a stiff,  cold,  reserved,  disobliging  sort  of  person  ; and 
they  judge  rightly  as  far  as  they  see,  except  that  no  one  should  be  deemed 
disobliging  merely  for  taking  no  pains  to  make  himself  agreeable  where 
he  feels  no  inclination  to  do  so.”  To  Grosvenor  Bedford,  April  1, 1832. 

1 Its  interior  remains  as  Goethe  left  it. 


639 


GOETHES  HOUSE 

speaks  to  us.  The  contrast  between  the  two  sets 
of  apartments  is  startling,  and  would  suggest  a 
remarkable  individuality  even  to  one  who  knew 
nothing  of  Goethe.  The  public  apartments  are 
princely,  but  the  three  rooms  which  Goethe  occupied 
are  ascetic  in  their  simplicity.  Unadorned,  ill- 
lighted,  of  small  dimensions,  the  study  is  such  a 
place  of  work  as  a poor  undergraduate  might  find 
comfortless ; and  the  library  and  bedroom  (a  mere 
closet)  are  equally  devoid  of  any  pretensions  to 
comfort  or  ornament.  It  was  from  a deliberate 
principle,  prompted  by  his  own  nature,  that  Goethe 
chose  to  live  in  such  Spartan  surroundings — a 
principle  which  he  thus  expounded  to  Eckermann. 
“ Splendid  edifices  and  apartments  are  for  princes 
and  kings.  Those  who  live  in  them  feel  at 
ease  and  contented  and  desire  nothing  further.  To 
my  own  nature  this  is  quite  repugnant.  In  a splendid 
abode,  like  that  which  I had  at  Carlsbad,  I am  at 
once  lazy  and  inactive.  On  the  contrary,  a small 
residence,  like  this  poor  apartment  in  which  we 
now  are,  and  where  a sort  of  disorderly  order — a 
sort  of  gipsy-fashion — prevails,  suits  me  exactly. 
It  allows  my  inner  nature  full  liberty  to  act,  and  to 
create  from  itself  alone  ! ” 1 

We  have  many  descriptions  of  Goethe’s  personal 
appearance  in  his  last  years,  though  they  are  not 
all  in  agreement.  An  American  already  quoted, 
Mr.  George  H.  Calvert,  who  was  in  Weimar  in  1825, 
thus  describes  him.  “ Goethe’s  face  was  oval,  with 
grand  harmonious  lines,  and  features  large  and 
prominent,  hair  cut  short  and  grey  without  bald- 
ness, forehead  high  and  roomy,  largely  developed 
throughout,  and  swelling  in  the  upper  corners, 
so  as  to  unite  in  a fine  curve  the  conspicuous  organs 
of  wonder  and  ideality.”  A month  later  in  the 
same  year,  Victor  Cousin  saw  him  for  the  second 
time,  and  thus  records  the  impression  he  made  on 
him.  “ The  door  of  the  gallery  opened  and  I saw 

1 Oxenford’s  translation. 


640  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

an  old  man  whom  I immediately  recognized.  He 
wore  a coloured  cravat,  grey  trousers,  a blue  over- 
coat, with  head  bare.  What  a head ! spacious, 
lofty,  imposing  as  that  of  Jupiter  Olympus.”  In 
1829  Crabb  Robinson  saw  him  after  the  lapse  of 
twenty-seven  years  and  was  struck  by  the  change 
in  his  appearance.  “ When  he  invites  a stranger,” 
he  writes,  “it  is  tete-a-tete.  A wise  sparing  of  his 
strength  is  his  habit.  Twenty-seven  years  ago 
when  I was  introduced  to  him  with  others  I trembled 
before  the  imposing  dignity  of  his  presence,  ‘ the 
eye  like  Jove  to  threaten  or  command.’  Now  I 
beheld  the  same  eye,  indeed,  but  the  eyebrows 
were  become  thin,  the  cheeks  were  furrowed ; 1 
the  lips  no  longer  curled  with  fearful  compression 
and  the  lofty  erect  posture  had  shrunk  to  a gentle 
stoop.”  In  the  following  year,  Thackeray  was  in 
Weimar,  and  we  have  from  his  hand  the  well- 
known  description  of  Goethe  which  he  communicated 
to  Lewes.  “ Of  course  I remember  very  well  the 
perturbation  of  spirit  with  which,  as  a lad  of  nineteen, 
I received  the  long-expected  intimation  that  the 
Herr  Geheimrat  would  see  me  on  such  a morning. 
This  notable  audience  took  place  in  a little  ante- 
chamber off  his  private  apartments,  covered  all 
round  with  antique  casts  and  bas-reliefs.  He  was 
habited  in  a long  grey  or  drab  redingot,  with  a 
white  neckcloth  and  a red  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole. 
He  kept  his  hands  behind  his  back,  just  as  in  Rauch’s 
statuette.  His  complexion  wras  very  bright,  clear, 
and  rosy.  His  eyes  extraordinarily  dark,  piercing, 
and  brilliant.  I felt  quite  afraid  before  them  and 
recollect  comparing  them  to  the  e}*es  of  the  hero 
of  a certain  romance,  called  Melmoth  the  Wanderer , 
which  used  to  alarm  us  boys  thirty  years  ago  ; eyes 
of  an  individual  who  had  made  a bargain  with  a 
Certain  Person,  and  at  an  extreme  old  age  retained 
the  eyes  in  all  their  awful  splendour.  I fancied 

1 All  who  saw  Goethe  in  his  last  years  were  struck  by  the  deep  furrows 
in  his  face. 


METHODICAL  HABITS  641 

Goethe  must  have  been  still  more  handsome  as 
an  old  man  than  even  in  the  days  of  his  youth. 
His  voice  was  very  rich  and  sweet.  He  asked  me 
questions  about  myself  which  I answered  as  best 
I could.  I recollect  I was  at  first  astonished,  and 
then  somewhat  relieved,  when  I found  he  spoke 
French  not  with  a good  accent.”  1 

In  the  management  of  his  life,  as  he  himself 
tells  us,  Goethe  had  inherited  the  methodical  habits 
of  his  father.  When  on  his  journeys,  he  went  over 
the  day’s  expenses  with  his  servant  before  retiring 
for  the  night,  and  at  home  the  household  accounts 
were  kept  with  scrupulous  care.  He  was  relieved 
of  this  trouble  by  his  son,  but  after  August’s  death 
he  had  to  take  up  the  burden  again,  and  he  found 
it  onerous.  His  day,  especially  in  his  later  years, 
was  laid  out  after  a fixed  plan.  He  rose  early, 
and  thus,  in  Scott’s  phrase,  broke  the  neck  of  the 
day’s  work.  About  eight  o’clock  or  earlier  came 
his  amanuensis,  who  had  difficulty  in  keeping  pace 
with  his  rapid  dictation.  Once  he  had  been  capable 
of  prodigious  spells  of  continuous  work  at  any 
period  of  the  day,  but  in  his  last  years  creative 
effort  was  possible  to  him  only  in  the  morning  after 
he  had  been  refreshed  by  sleep  ; and  in  1828  he 
told  Eckermann  that  a page  of  the  Second  Part  of 
Faust  was  all  that  he_  could  produce  at  one  time. 
In  the  afternoon  came  dinner,  when  he  was  seldom 
without  a more  or  less  numerous  company.  He 
kept  a liberal  table  and,  by  all  accounts,  was  himself 
a mighty  trencherman  and  drank  correspondingly 
of  his  favourite  wines,  in  which  he  was  a connoisseur. 
When  guests  were  present,  the  meal  was  prolonged, 
and,  if  the  company  was  choice,  it  was  then  that 
he  came  out  in  his  full  strength,  dazzling  and  over- 
powering his  listeners  by  the  range  of  his  knowledge 
and  gifts  and  by  his  dominating  personality.  In  the 

1 Lockhart,  who  had  visited  Goethe,  remarked  to  Scott,  “ how  much 
any  one  must  be  struck  with  the  majestic  beauty  of  Goethe’s  countenance, 
the  noblest  certainly  by  far  that  I have  ever  yet  seen.” 

VOL.  II. 


R 


642  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

evenings  there  were  frequent  tea-parties,  at  which 
his  daughter-in-law  presided — ladies  being  the  chief 
guests,  music  and  light  talk  the  entertainment.  At 
nine  o’clock  Goethe  retired,  and,  vrhen  in  his 
ordinary  health,  was  assured  of  a sound  sleep. 

It  was  under  the  domestic  conditions  just  described 
that  Goethe  strove  to  bring  his  life’s  work  to  a close. 
The  external  events  of  these  last  years  wrere  mainly 
of  such  a nature  as  to  admonish  him  to  make  all 
the  speed  he  could.  On  the  night  of  March  22, 
1825,  the  Weimar  theatre  which  had  been  rebuilt 
in  1790  was  burnt  to  the  ground — he  witnessing 
the  flames  from  his  bed.  It  was  the  grave  of  his 
memories,  he  said,  and,  we  may  add,  memories 
of  mingled  pleasure  and  pain.  But  Weimar  could 
not  dispense  with  a theatre,  and  there  was  a special 
event  to  happen  in  the  near  future  with  which  it 
was  desirable  that  its  restoration  should  be  associated. 
On  September  3,  the  jubilee  of  Carl  August’s  accession 
to  the  Dukedom  was  celebrated.  In  Goethe,  too, 
the  proceedings  awakened  many  recollections,  since 
they  commemorated  the  determination  of  his  own 
future  career.  Early  in  the  morning  Goethe  hastened 
to  the  Duke,  then  living  in  the  Roman  House  in 
the  Park,  and  was  the  first  stranger  to  greet  him. 
Both  were  deeply  moved,  and  as  they  embraced, 
Goethe  exclaimed : “To  the  last  breath  together.” 
“ 0 for  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  Ilmenau,”  the 
Duke  was  overheard  to  say,  recalling  the  wild  days 
they  had  spent  there  in  their  early  youth.  In  the 
evening  Goethe’s  house  was  brilliantly  illuminated, 
and  the  day  closed  with  the  performance  of  the 
opera  Semiramis. 

Two  months  later  (November  7)  another  jubilee 
was  celebrated — the  jubilee  of  Goethe’s  coming  to 
Weimar  and  his  entering  on  office.  The  demonstra- 
tion that  took  place  on  the  part  of  Court,  town, 
and  Duchy  gave  signal  proof  of  the  extraordinary 
position  which  he  held  in  the  public  mind.  He 
was  awakened  in  the  morning  by  a choir  of  voices 


OFFICIAL  JUBILEE  643 

singing  a chorale  in  his  garden.  At  nine  o’clock, 
when  he  entered  the  great  salon,  he  was  again  greeted 
with  music,  and  there  followed  a reception  of  various 
representative  bodies — Ministers  of  State,  deputies 
from  Weimar,  Jena  (town  and  University),  Eisenach 
and  other  places.  The  representative  of  the  Duke, 
Baron  von  Fritsch,  presented  him  with  an  autograph 
letter  from  the  Duke  and  a gold  medal,  bearing 
the  likeness  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  on  the  one 
side  and  that  of  Goethe  laurel-crowned  on  the  other. 
The  letter,  containing  a splendid  tribute  to  Goethe’s 
services,  was  by  the  Duke’s  order  posted  up  in  a public 
place.  “ Just  like  him,”  was  Goethe’s  comment. 
Later  the  Duke  and  Duchess  had  a long  interview 
with  him  alone,  and  they  were  followed  by  other 
members  of  the  ducal  family.  Other  events  of  the 
day  were  a banquet  in  the  town  hall  at  which  Goethe 
was  represented  by  his  son,  the  performance  of 
Iphigenie,  the  whole  audience  rising  and  bowing 
to  Goethe  when  he  appeared  in  the  theatre,  and 
a grand  serenade  before  his  house  by  the  orchestra 
of  the  Ducal  chapel.  “ A most  solemn  day,”  was 
Goethe’s  comment  in  his  Diary  on  all  that  it  meant 
for  him.1 

In  January,  1826,  Goethe  saw  the  end  of  a 
protracted  piece  of  business  of  high  importance 
for  himself  and  those  dependent  on  him.  In  1824 
he  had  resolved  to  issue  a last  edition  of  his  collected 
works,  and  as  soon  as  his  intention  was  known, 
many  booksellers  came  forward  with  offers  to  under- 
take the  publication.  Though  at  all  times  generous 
with  his  money,  Goethe,  like  Byron,  had  ever  been 
a hard  bargainer  with  publishers,  and  in  this  case 
he  was  stiffened  by  his  son  August,  who,  as  his 
own  interest  was  at  stake,  counselled  his  father  to 
dealings  which  smacked  of  the  petty  attorney. 

1 The  Faculty  of  Theology  in  the  University  of  Jena  sent  him  a remark- 
able address  in  which  it  is  stated  that  he  “ had  powerfully  advanced  the 
true  interests  of  the  Church  and  of  Evangelical  theology  ” ! 


644  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

The  publisher  Cotta  1 made  the  most  liberal  offer, 
but  it  was  only  through  the  intermediacy  of  Sulpiz 
Boisseree  that  an  arrangement  was  eventually  con- 
cluded. It  was  to  the  effect  that  Cotta  should  pay 
60,000  thalers  for  the  forty  volumes  of  which  the 
edition  was  to  consist,  an  additional  sum  to  be  paid 
for  the  volumes  containing  the  scientific  works ; 
and,  should  40,000  copies  be  sold,  Cotta  undertook 
to  pay  120,000  thalers  instead  of  60,000.  But  the 
bargain  was  one  thing  ; to  reap  the  fruits  of  it 
another.  In  Germany  at  that  period,  authors  and 
publishers  were  at  the  mercy  of  piratical  adventurers, 
and  Goethe  had  been  their  victim  throughout  his 
whole  literary  career.  As  so  much  was  involved 
in  the  publication  of  what  was  to  be  his  last  edition 
of  his  works,  he  took  a decided  step  ; he  appealed 
in  1825  to  the  Bundesrath  for  the  protection  of  his 
copyright,  and  in  the  following  year  the  appeal 
was  granted.  The  preparation  of  the  new  edition 
was  one  of  his  important  labours  during  the  closing 
years  of  his  working  life,  and,  with  the  indispensable 
aid  of  Eckermann  and  Meyer,  he  completed  it  in  1830. 

Many  and  strange  memories  must  have  been 
stirred  in  Goethe  when  on  January  6,  1827,  Frau 
von  Stein  died  in  her  eighty-fifth  year.  They  had 
for  many  years  been  on  terms  of  friendly  inter- 
course, especially  after  the  death  of  Christiane 
Vulpius,  for  whom  she  never  overcame  her  dislike. 
In  lines  he  addressed  to  her  in  1820,  he  freely  acknow- 
ledged all  that  she  had  been  to  him,  naming  her  with 
Shakespeare  as  one  of  the  greatest  influences  of  his  life. 

Einer  Einzigen  angekoren, 

Einen  Einzigen  verehren, 

Wie  vereint  es  Herz  und  Sinn  ! 

Lida  ! Gliick  der  nacksten  Nake, 

William  ! Stem  der  sckonsten  Hoke, 

Euck  verdank’  ick,  was  ick  bin  ; 

Tag’  und  Jakre  sind  versckwunden, 

Und  dock  rukt  auf  jenen  Stunden 
Meines  Wertes  Vollgewinn. 

1 Cotta  had  already  published  several  of  Goethe’s  works. 


THE  DUKE’S  DEATH 


645 


A touching  wish  which  she  expressed  when  near 
the  end  reveals  that  her  last  thoughts  of  him  were 
kind.  She,  who  knew  his  whole  nature  as  perhaps 
no  one  else  did,  was  familiar  with  his  inborn  dislike 
of  every  suggestion  of  mortality,  and  requested 
that  her  funeral  should  not  pass  his  door — a request 
which  the  authorities  overruled.  He  did  not  himself 
attend  the  ceremony,1  sending  his  son  as  his 
representative  2 ; and  it  is  wholly  characteristic 
of  him  that  neither  in  his  Diary,  letters,  nor  conversa- 
tion did  he  once  refer  to  her  death. 

A greater  loss  awaited  him  in  the  following 
year  (1828)  ; on  June  14  the  Grand  Duke  died 
suddenly  from  an  apoplectic  stroke.  He  had  been 
in  failing  health  for  some  time,  but,  against  the 
wishes  of  his  friends,  he  had  gone  to  Berlin  to  see 
a great-grandchild,  and  he  died  on  the  journey 
home.  When  the  news  of  his  death  reached  Weimar, 
Goethe  was  at  dinner  with  a party  of  guests,  and 
his  son  was  summoned  out  and  informed  of  what 
had  happened.  Hastily  dismissing  the  party  on 
the  pretext  that  they  wished  to  be  early  at  the 
theatre,  he  communicated  the  news  to  his  father 
when  all  had  gone.  In  the  evening  Eckermann 
visited  Goethe  and  found  him  walking  up  and 
down  his  room  sighing  deeply  and  talking  to  himself. 
He  had  counted  on  going  first,  he  said  to  Eckermann, 
but  no  doubt  all  was  for  the  best,  and  all  that 
poor  mortals  could  do  was  to  go  on  and  endure 
as  best  they  can.  When  Schiller  died,  Goethe 
said  that  with  him  went  half  of  his  existence  ; with 
even  greater  truth  he  might  have  said  the  same  on 
the  death  of  the  Duke.  The  life-work  of  the  one 
was  the  complement  of  the  fife-work  of  the  other, 
and,  on  the  part  of  both,  there  was  a clear  recognition 
that  such  had  been  the  destiny  assigned  to  them. 

1 The  exact  spot  where  she  was  buried  is  not  known,  as  a road,  after- 
wards constructed,  runs  over  it. 

2 Edward  Fitzgerald  had  a similar  objection  to  attending  the  funerals 
of  his  friends. 


G46  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

Had  they  not  met  when  they  did,  Goethe’s  life  must 
have  been  passed  under  such  different  conditions 
that  he  could  hardly  have  developed  into  the  man 
the  world  knows.  The  bond  that  united  them  was 
certainly  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  the  history 
of  human  relations,  and  is  in  itself  a testimony  to 
a loyalty  of  nature  in  both.  In  the  years  of  their 
headstrong  youth,  when  the  world  at  large  was 
convinced  that  the  one  was  leading  the  other  to 
ruin,  they  discerned  their  respective  capacities  and 
under  mutual  influence  they  came,  as  the  years 
proceeded,  to  shape  their  lives  in  accordance  with 
their  conditions  and  with  their  natural  endowments  ; 
Carl  August  grew  into  a beneficent  and  enlightened 
ruler  of  his  people,  and  Goethe  into  a world  poet 
and  one  of  humanity’s  enduring  counsellors. 

The  death  of  the  Duke  was  the  heaviest  blow 
that  Goethe  had  ever  sustained,  and  all  the  instincts 
of  his  nature  were  required  to  surmount  it.  What 
his  dominant  instinct  was,  his  whole  past  life  had 
shown  ; it  was  to  give  to  the  world  all  that  nature’s 
endowment  to  him  enabled  him  to  give.  He  followed 
the  same  mental  and  moral  regimen  as  was  his 
custom  in  all  such  crises  of  his  life.  He  repressed 
every  manifestation  of  emotion,  and  steadfastly 
turned  to  the  tasks  that  had  been  occupying  him. 
A rising  artist,  J.  Stieler,  had  for  some  time  been 
engaged  on  his  portrait,  and  he  continued  to  sit 
for  him ; science  had  long  been  his  refuge  in  times 
of  mental  trouble  and  he  now  read  a work  of  the 
botanist  De  Candolle  in  connection  with  a French 
translation  of  his  Metamorphosis  of  Plants  which 
was  being  prepared  by  Soret.  But  his  medical 
adviser  insisted  that  a change  of  scene  was  necessary 
if  nature  was  not  to  give  way.  The  Duke’s  burial 
was  to  take  place  on  July  9,  and  on  the  7th  Goethe 
left  Weimar,  accompanied  by  his  manservant  and 
his  secretary. 

The  place  he  chose  for  retreat  was  Dornburg, 
a village  in  the  valley  of  the  Saale,  a little  below 


VISIT  TO  DORNBURG 


647 


Jena.  It  was  a spot,  lie  told  Zelter,  which  for  fifty 
years  he  had  enjoyed  in  the  company  of  the  Duke, 
and  where  he  saw  around  him  the  most  striking 
evidences  of  his  old  patron’s  beneficent  activity. 
Of  all  Goethe’s  places  of  retreat  it  is  indeed  the 
most  delightful.  In  front  of  the  village  is  a row 
of  castles  of  various  dimensions,  extending  along 
a ridge,  overlooking  the  Saale  valley,  a splendid 
prospect.  What  specially  appealed  to  the  poet 
was  the  highly-cultivated  gardens  adjoining  the 
castles  where  he  had  excellent  opportunities  of 
prosecuting  his  botanical  researches.  Spending  the 
whole  day  in  the  open  air  engaged  in  these  pursuits, 
he  gradually  attained  serenity,  though,  as  he  wrote 
to  Zelter,  the  gloomy  catafalque  was  ever  in  the 
background.  Two  short  poems  which  he  wrote 
during  his  stay  at  Dornburg  give  the  keynote  of 
the  mood  produced  in  him  by  the  Duke’s  death. 
One  of  them,  Dem  aufgehenden  Vollmonde , is  addressed 
to  Marianne  von  Willemer. 1 

Willst  du  niich  so  gleick  verlassen  ? 

Warst  im  Augenblick  so  nah  ! 

Dich  umfinstem  Wolkenmassen, 

Und  nun  bist  du  gar  nicht  da. 

Doch  du  fiihlst,  wie  ich  betrubt  bin, 

Blickt  dein  Rand  herauf  als  Stern  ! 

Zeugest  mir,  dass  ich  geliebt  bin, 

Sei  das  Liebchen  noch  so  fern. 

So  hinan  denn  ! hell  und  heller, 

Reiner  Baku  in  voller  Pracht ! 

Schlagt  mein  Herz  auch  schmerzlick  schneller, 
Ueberselig  ist  die  Nacht. 

On  September  11  Goethe  returned  to  Weimar, 
and  with  recovered  strength  and  composure  resumed 
the  tasks  that  had  been  interrupted  by  the  Duke’s 
death.  But  before  his  life’s  work  was  done,  he 
was  again  to  be  painfully  reminded  of  his  own 

1 It  will  be  remembered  that  they  made  a mutual  pledge  that  they 
would  think  of  each  other  at  the  time  of  full  moon. 


648  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

saying  that  to  live  long  is  to  outlive  many.  On 
February  14,  1830,  the  Grand  Duchess  Luise  followed 
her  husband  the  Grand  Duke.  For  Goethe  it  was 
the  breaking  of  another  tie  which  had  endured  for 
over  half  a century.  During  his  first  years  in  Weimar 
she  had  regarded  him  with  suspicion  as  a mischievous 
influence  on  Carl  August,  but  she  had  come  to  see 
that  she  had  misjudged  their  relations  and  to  consider 
him  as  a friend  and  helper  in  her  own  clouded  life. 
Her  early  misunderstanding  with  her  husband  passed 
away,  but  they  were  never  wholly  congenial  to  each 
other,  and  she  impresses  us  as  a noble  and  some- 
what pathetic  figure.  From  the  first  Goethe  was 
attracted  by  the  distinction  of  character  which 
lay  behind  her  outward  reserve,  and  which  she  had 
so  eminently  shown  in  her  attitude  to  Napoleon, 
and  from  all  his  references  to  her  we  may  gather 
that  he  regarded  her  as  of  a nature  apart  from  the 
women  who  surrounded  her. 

In  the  same  year  (1830)  came  a crowning  blow, 
and  on  this  occasion  he  was  stricken  in  his  own 
household.  As  his  son  August  advanced  in  years, 
his  vicious  hereditary  propensities  had  become  more 
and  more  apparent  and  his  conduct  towards  his 
wife,  and  even  his  father,  was  such  as  to  destroy 
the  peace  of  the  home  ; at  times,  to  avoid  painful 
scenes,  Goethe  found  it  necessary  to  take  his  meals 
alone.  At  length,  in  March,  1830,  it  was  arranged 
that  the  son  should  go  away  for  a time  and  make 
a prolonged  tour  in  Italy.  Italy  had  restored  his 
father  to  mental  and  bodily  health  when  he  was 
in  a condition  of  morbid  strain,  and,  as  August 
had  inherited  his  father’s  interest  in  art,  there  was 
a hope  that  it  might  have  a similar  influence  on  him. 
The  staid  Eckermann  was  to  be  his  travelling 
companion,  as  likely  to  be  a restraint  on  him  and, 
at  the  same  time,  an  intelligent  counsellor.  On 
April  22  they  set  out  on  their  journey  and  for  three 
months  they  travelled  together.  Apparently,  how- 
ever, their  relations  were  painful  from  the  beginning, 


/ 


649 


DEATH  OF  HIS  SON 

and  at  length  they  became  so  intolerable  that  the 
two  parted  company  at  Genoa  (July  25) — Eckermann 
to  make  his  way  home  and  August  to  continue 
his  travels.  On  the  very  day  they  parted,  August, 
while  proceeding  from  Genoa  to  Spezzia,  had  his 
collar-bone  broken  as  the  result  of  an  accident  to 
the  vehicle  in  which  he  was  travelling.  On  his 
recovery  he  successively  visited  Carrara,  Florence, 
Leghorn,  and  Naples,  whence  he  made  an  excursion 
to  Pompeii  and  was  present  at  the  excavation  of 
a Roman  house  in  which  he  showed  much  interest.1 
Throughout  his  stay  in  Naples,  as  his  father  gathered 
from  his  letters,  he  was  in  a state  of  feverish  excite- 
ment, and  in  this  condition  he  travelled  to  Rome 
in  the  middle  of  October.  In  Rome  a few  days 
later  he  was  attacked  by  scarlet  fever  wThich,  followed 
by  a paralytic  stroke,  proved  too  much  for  his 
broken  constitution.  He  died  on  the  27th,  and  was 
buried  in  the  Protestant  cemetery  by  the  Pyramid 
of  Cestius,  near  which  lie  the  remains  of  Shelley 
and  Keats — a spot,  his  father  wrote  to  Zelter,  which 
he  had  longed  for  in  his  dreams  years  before  August 
was  born.2 

Goethe  had  anxiously  followed  his  son’s  travels, 
and  had  found  comfort  in  his  early  letters,  which 
seemed  to  show  an  eager  and  intelligent  interest 
in  the  places  he  visited.  The  morbid  strain  in 
those  written  from  Naples,  however,  disquieted 
him,  but  he  still  continued  to  hope  that  Rome 
might,  as  in  his  own  case,  have  a beneficial  effect. 
The  announcement  of  August’s  death  did  not  reach 
Weimar  till  November  10.  Goethe  received  it 
with  composure,  and  to  Chancellor  von  Muller  who 
communicated  it,  he  only  remarked,  his  eyes  filling 
with  tears : Non  ignoravi  me  mortalem  genuisse. 

A few  days  later  he  gave  expression  to  his  feelings 

1 The  house  excavated  was  called  the  Casa  di  Goeihe  in  honour  of 
Goethe. 

2 Thorwaldsen,  who  had  a profound  admiration  for  Goethe,  designed 
and  erected  a memorial  on  the  tomb. 


650  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

in  a memorable  letter  to  Zelter,  who  a short  time 
before  had  also  lost  a son.  “ Nemo  ante  obitum 
beatus  is  a phrase  which  is  famous  in  the  history  of 
the  world,  but  which  really  means  nothing.  To 
be  expressed  at  all  clearly,  it  should  run : ‘ Expect 
trials  to  the  very  end.’  You  have  had  your  share 
of  them,  my  friend ; so  have  I,  and  it  seems  as  if 
Fate  were  convinced  that  we  are  not  knit  together 
of  nerves,  veins,  arteries,  and  other  derived  organs, 
but  of  wire.  ...  In  trials  like  this  nothing  but  the 
great  conception  of  duty  can  uphold  us.  I have 
no  care  but  to  maintain  my  balance  physically  ; 
everything  else  follows  spontaneously.  It  is  for 
the  body  to  obey,  for  the  spirit  to  will,  and  the  man 
who  finds  his  will  directed  into  the  one  inevitable 
course,  will  soon  make  up  his  mind.” 

When  Goethe  thus  wrote  to  Zelter,  he  had  already 
begun  to  put  these  precepts  into  practice.  Immedi- 
ately after  receiving  the  news  of  August’s  death,  he 
had  turned  to  a task  which  he  had  laid  aside  for 
ten  years— his  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit, — and  had 
assiduously  addressed  himself  to  the  completion 
of  the  fourth  book.  But,  in  spite  of  will,  he  found 
that  the  body  has  its  limits  of  endurance.  During 
the  night  of  November  25-6,  he  was  seized  with 
a violent  haemorrhage  from  the  lungs,  and  for  some 
days  his  life  was  in  danger.  Again  his  magnificent 
constitution  triumphed  and  by  the  middle  of 
December  he  was  able  to  resume  work.  As  usual, 
many  tasks  engaged  him.  In  the  beginning  of 
1831  he  occupied  himself  with  the  arrangement 
of  his  correspondence,  and  intimated  to  Eckermami 
that  he  would  appoint  him  his  literary  executor. 
He  resolutely  applied  himself  to  the  completion  of 
the  Second  Part  of  Faust,  but  was  again  interrupted 
by  a serious  illness  in  March.  At  length,  as  we 
have  seen,  by  the  end  of  June  he  was  able  to  tell 
Eckermann  that  his  work  was  done  and  that  hence- 
forth he  considered  himself  free  to  dispose  of  his 
life  as  seemed  good  to  him. 


HIS  CONSOLATIONS 


651 


It  was  under  these  successive  blows  to  his  peace 
of  mind  that  Goethe  carried  on  his  manifold  labours 
during  the  closing  years  of  his  working  life.  Yet 
these  years  were  far  from  being  years  of  unmingled 
gloom.  He  found  in  the  exercise  of  his  powers 
the  cheerfulness  and  repose  which  such  effort  always 
brings.  In  his  home,  despite  his  trying  experiences 
with  his  son,  there  was  much  to  make  his  life  smooth 
and  happ3r.  His  daughter-in-law,  Ottilie,  was  wholly 
devoted  to  him,  and,  with  her  unusual  degree  of 
feminine  tact  and  sympathy,  she  knew  how  to 
minister  to  all  his  needs  and  humours.  His  two 
grandchildren,  also,  were  a never-failing  source  of 
delight  to  him.  At  all  periods  of  his  life  children 
had  been  drawn  to  him  as  to  one  who  understood 
them,  and  Soret  gives  a pleasant  picture  of  the 
liberties  which  the  younger  grandson,  Wolf,  took 
with  him  even  at  inopportune  times.  Moreover, 
hardly  a day  passed  without  visits  from  his  friends 
in  Weimar,  both  men  and  women,  and  among  these 
were  persons  fully  capable  of  entering  into  his 
various  interests,  and,  what  he  valued  above 
everything  else  in  talk,  of  adding  to  his  stores  of 
knowledge. 

Another  interest  was  the  succession  of 
distinguished  visitors  who  waited  on  him  year  by 
year,  inspired  either  by  curiosity  or  by  friendship. 
Of  the  former  was  Heine  who  came  in  October, 
1824,  and  has  recorded  his  impression  of  Goethe 
with  his  characteristic  persiflage.  As  he  chose  to 
tell  the  story,  he  had  prepared  a formal  speech  for 
the  occasion,  but  was  so  overwhelmed  by  Goethe’s 
manner  and  presence  that  he  could  only  stammer 
out  some  words  about  the  excellence  of  the  plums 
that  grew  between  Weimar  and  Jena.  The  two 
most  welcome  guests  were  Sulpiz  Boisseree  and 
Zelter,  both  with  a place  in  his  affections,  the  one 
as  a son  and  the  other  as  a true  brother  in  the  spirit. 
His  most  astonishing  visitor  was  Alexander  von 
Humboldt,  who  rivalled  Goethe  himself  in  the 


652  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

extent  of  his  knowledge  and  the  universality  of 
his  interests,  and  whose  talk  was  an  unremitting 
stream,  which  in  later  years  overwhelmed  the  salons 
of  Paris.  Goethe’s  attitude  towards  another  visitor 
of  a different  order  disquiets  us.  This  was  the  well- 
meaning,  but  foolish  King  of  Bavaria,  Ludwig  I., 
who  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer.  He  called  with 
Carl  August  to  present  Goethe  with  the  Order  of 
the  Grand  Cross.  Always  a stickler  for  etiquette, 
Goethe  turned  to  the  Duke  and  asked  his  permission 
to  accept  the  honour.  “ Come,  old  fellow,  no 
nonsense,”  was  the  Duke’s  characteristic  repfy. 
Two  days  later  von  Muller  met  Goethe  who  spoke 
to  him  as  follows  of  his  interview  with  the  King. 
“ It  is  no  trifle  to  assimilate  an  impression  so  powerful 
as  the  vision  of  the  King,  to  adjust  it  mentally. 
It  requires  an  effort,  in  such  circumstances,  to 
stand  upright,  and  not  to  get  giddy.  And  yet 
it  is  a matter  of  moment  to  familiarize  oneself 
with  the  vision,  to  form  a clear  and  distinct  idea 
of  what  is  important  in  it.”  As  we  read  these 
humourless  reflections,  if  we  are  to  do  justice  to 
Goethe,  we  have  need  to  recall  what  corporal- 
ism  means  in  Germany,  and  that  Goethe  had 
breathed  the  atmosphere  of  German  Courts  for 
a lifetime. 

Even  during  these  years  of  enforced  seclusion 
Goethe  never  ceased  to  be  in  touch  with  the  world 
outside  Weimar.  At  his  own  request,  he  was 
regularly  informed  by  his  many  correspondents  of 
their  pursuits  in  their  various  domains,  whether 
in  literature  or  in  science  ; Zelter,  the  most  valued 
of  them,  had  to  keep  him  abreast  of  all  that  was 
doing  in  the  musical,  theatrical,  and  literary  circles 
of  Berlin.  His  conversations  with  Eckermann  furnish 
remarkable  evidence  of  his  eager  curiosity  in  the 
different  fields  of  human  activity  even  into  his 
latest  years.  Few  works  in  literature  produced 
in  any  of  the  intellectual  centres  of  Europe  escaped 
his  attention.  It  was  the  new  literary  movements 


FRENCH  LITERATURE  653 

in  France  that  interested  him  most,  for  he  always 
considered  that  the  French  were  the  people  that 
had  attained  the  highest  degree  of  national  culture. 
The  foundation  of  the  Globe  in  1824,  as  an  organ 
of  the  new  generation  of  French  men  of  letters, 
he  hailed  as  evidence  of  France’s  widening  intellectual 
horizon.  He  read  diligently  her  leading  young 
writers — Guizot,  Viilemain,  Cousin,  Remusat,  Ste. 
Beuve  and  others.  The  ironical  quality  of  Prosper 
Merimee,  whom  he  called  ein  ganzer  Kerl , specially 
interested  him,  and  it  is  a signal  instance  of  his 
critical  insight  that  he  was  almost  alone  in  detecting 
that  Merimee’s  Guzla,  given  out  as  a collection  of 
Illyrian  songs,  was  a mystification.  He  fully 
recognized  Victor  Hugo’s  genius,  and  made  it 
a duty  to  read  his  successive  productions,  but  it 
was  a painful  experience.  Hugo’s  morbid  exaggera- 
tion was  antipathetic  to  his  deepest  instincts,  and 
he  described  Notre  Dame  as  “ the  most  detestable 
book  ever  written.” 

Goethe’s  outlook  was  not  limited  to  the  moral 
and  intellectual  development  of  humanity  ; he  had 
visions  of  material  development  on  the  globe  which 
have  since  his  day  been  in  great  measure  realized. 
He  felt  assured  that  the  United  States,  by  its  rapid 
growth  towards  the  west,  would  one  day  be  forced 
to  construct  a canal  which  would  open  up  the 
Pacific  to  the  world’s  trade ; 1 he  desired,  in  the 
interests  of  all  nations  to  see  a canal  cut  through 
the  Isthmus  of  Suez  and  in  the  possession  of  Britain, 
as  he  also  desired  to  see  a canal  uniting  the  Danube 
and  the  Rhine  in  the  interests  of  Central  Europe. 
But  it  was  in  the  progress  of  what  he  considered 
right  conceptions  of  the  processes  of  nature  that 
he  was  most  keenly  interested,  as  on  these  conceptions 
depended  man’s  true  attitude  to  the  universe. 
There  is  a well-known  anecdote  told  by  Soret,  which 
illustrates  in  a remarkable  manner  his  absorption 
in  his  scientific  ideas.  On  August  2,  1830,  the  news 

1 Leibniz  anticipated  him  in  this  forecast. 


654  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

of  the  Revolution  of  July  in  Paris  reached  Weimar, 
and  there  was  general  excitement  regarding  its 
probable  results.  In  the  afternoon  of  that  day 
Soret  visited  Goethe,  and  the  following  conversation, 
probably  somewhat  coloured  in  the  report,  ensued 
between  them.  “ Now,”  exclaimed  Goethe  as  Soret 
entered,  “ what  do  you  think  of  this  great  event  ? 
The  volcano  is  in  eruption,  everything  is  in  flames, 
and  the  day  of  secret  discussion  is  over.”  “ A 
frightful  story,”  returned  Soret.  “ But  in  the 
circumstances  with  which  we  are  familiar,  and  with 
such  a ministry,  what  else  was  to  be  expected  than 
that  the  expulsion  of  the  royal  family  would 
ultimately  come  ? ” “ We  appear  to  be  at  cross- 

purposes, my  good  friend,”  returned  Goethe.  “ I 
am  not  speaking  of  these  people ; I am  concerned 
with  very  different  matters.  I am  talking  of  the 
dispute  between  Cuvier  and  Geoffrey  St.  Hilaire, 
which  has  broken  out  publicly  in  the  Academy — • 
a dispute  of  the  highest  importance  for  science.” 
And  he  proceeded  to  explain  how  for  fifty  years 
he  had  been  insisting  on  the  synthetic  as  against 
the  analytic  mode  of  regarding  nature,  the  very 
cause  which  St.  Hilaire  was  now  championing  before 
the  world  against  Cuvier.  As  Soret  relates  the 
anecdote,  surprise  is  implied  that  Goethe  should 
be  so  indifferent  to  an  event  of  such  political 
significance  for  the  world  as  the  Revolution  of  July. 
But  the  truth  is  that  the  anecdote  brings  before  us 
the  fact  that  for  Goethe  the  issue  of  the  controversy 
between  Cuvier  and  St.  Hilaire  was  of  profound 
and  permanent  import  for  the  future  of  humanity  ; 
the  question  at  stake  was  for  him,  whether  truth 
or  error,  and  therefore  whether  good  or  evil,  was 
eventually  to  triumph.  The  animating  principle  of 
all  his  thinking  on  art,  philosophy,  and  religion 
was  the  conception  of  nature  for  which  St.  Hilaire 
contended.  In  his  concluding  remarks  to  Soret  on 
the  same  occasion  there  is  the  fervour  of  religious 
conviction.  “ From  the  present  time,”  he  said, 


HIS  CONCEPTION  OF  NATURE  655 

“ mind  will  rule  over  matter  in  the  physical  investiga- 
tions of  the  French.  There  will  be  glimpses  of  the 
great  maxims  of  creation,  of  the  mysterious 
workshop  of  God  ! Besides,  what  is  all  intercourse 
with  nature,  if,  by  the  analytical  method,  we 
merely  occupy  ourselves  with  individual  material 
parts,  and  do  not  feel  the  breath  of  the  spirit, 
which  prescribes  to  every  part  its  direction,  and 
orders,  or  sanctions,  every  deviation  by  means  of 
an  inherent  law  ? ” 

The  most  important  works  on  which  Goethe 
was  engaged  during  his  closing  years  have  already 
been  mentioned,  but  these  do  not  include  the  whole 
scope  of  his  activities  in  literature  and  science. 
He  prepared  for  publication  his  correspondence  with 
Schiller  and  with  Zelter,  continued  his  Annalen , 
and  wrote  various  essays  on  foreign  literatures  and 
on  scientific  subjects.  Apart  from  his  work  on 
the  Second  Part  of  Faust  he  produced  comparatively 
little  poetry — the  inevitable  result  of  flagging  inspira- 
tion. The  poems  he  wrote  at  Dornburg,  charged 
with  the  memories  of  Carl  August,  have  already 
been  named,  and  besides  these  we  have  between 
thirty  and  forty  short  pieces  prompted  by  experiences 
of  the  moment.  Memorable  among  them  is  the 
poem  on  Schiller’s  skull,  which  had  been  found 
among  others  in  the  treasury-vault  at  the  Jacobs- 
kirchhof  in  Weimar  1 (1826).  That  Goethe  chose 
to  write  a poem  on  such  a subject  is  in  itself  remark- 
able, for  it  was  a peculiarity  of  his  later  years  that 
he  avoided  with  morbid  care  all  direct  references 
to  death.2  As  it  happened,  at  the  time  when  the 
poem  was  written,  he  was  engaged  in  the  study 
of  Dante,  and  it  is  wholly  in  Dante’s  spirit  and  at 
the  same  time  in  consistency  with  his  own  scientific 
creed  that  he  transcends  considerations  of  mortality 
in  the  treatment  of  his  theme.  Written  in  Dante’s 

1 It  is  doubtful  if  it  was  really  Schiller’s  skull. 

2 In  his  later  years  he  made  use  of  all  manner  of  euphemism  to  avoid 
the  word  “ death.” 


656  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 


terza  rima  and  with  something  of  his  tense 
compression,  the  poem  thus  concludes  : — 

Was  kann  der  Mensch  im  Leben  mehr  gewinnen, 

Als  dass  sich  Gott-Natur  ihm  offenbare  ? 

Wie  sie  das  Feste  lasst  zu  Geist  verrinnen, 

Wie  sie  das  Geist-erzeugte  fest  bewahre. 

Interesting,  also,  is  the  series  of  lyrics  which  he 
entitled  Chinesisch-  Deutsche  Jahres-  und  Tages- 
zeiten,  written  in  1827.  At  an  earlier  period,  we 
have  seen,  he  had  given  his  attention  to  Chinese 
literature,  and  some  recent  translations  from  the 
Chinese  had  reawakened  his  curiosity.  He  had 
learned  from  Herder  to  realize  how  poetic  feeling 
found  expression  among  the  various  races  of  man- 
kind, and  by  imitations  to  endeavour  to  reproduce 
in  himself  their  imaginative  attitude.  The  peculiar 
quality  of  Chinese  poetry,  as  it  has  come  to  be  known, 
is  its  letting  the  simple  fact  speak  for  itself,  and  in 
such  lines  as  the  following  Goethe  closely  and  with 
fine  effect  follows  his  models. 

Damm’rung  senkte  sich  von  oben, 

Schon  ist  alle  Nahe  fern  ; 

Doch  zuerst  emporgehoben 
Holden  Lichts  der  Abendstem  ! 

Alles  schwankt  ins  Ungewisse, 

Nebel  schleichen  in  die  Hob’ ; 

Schwarzvertiefte  Finstemisse 
Widerspiegelnd  ruht  der  See. 

But  the  weightiest  poem  of  the  period  is  that 
entitled  V ermachtniss,  composed  in  1829  and 
subsequently  embodied  in  Wilhelm  Meisters  Wander- 
jahre.  Here  in  brief  compass  we  have  Goethe’s 
philosophy  of  life  as  it  had  definitively  shaped  itself 
in  his  mind  as  the  result  of  all  his  previous  experience. 
And,  as  his  final  testimony,  it  has  greater  impressive- 
ness from  the  fact  that  it  is  an  emphatic  reply  to 
a misconstruction  of  previous  words  of  his  own. 


HIS  REAL  CREED  657 

His  poem  Bins  und  Alles  had  ended  with  the 
lines : . 

Denn  alles  muss  in  Nichts  zerfallen, 

Wenn  es  im  Sein  beharren  will. 

Mistakenly  read  apart  from  their  context,  these 
lines,  to  Goethe’s  indignation,  had  been  taken  to 
imply  the  annihilation  of  the  individual.  V er- 
machtniss  opens  with  an  emphatic  contradiction  of 
this  inference. 

Kein  Wesen  kann  zu  nichts  zerfallen  ! 

Das  Ew’ge  regt  sich  fort  in  Allen. 

Am  Sein  erhalte  dich  begliickt ! 

Das  Sein  ist  ewig  ; denn  Gesetze 
Bewahren  die  lebend’gen  Schatze, 

Aus  welchen  sich  das  All  geschmuckt. 

A peculiarly  characteristic  section  of  Goethe’s 
work  belongs  for  the  most  part  to  his  closing  years ; 
this  is  a series  of  gnomic  sentences  sufficiently 
numerous  to  make  up  a volume  by  themselves. 
Many  and  varied  as  were  the  works  in  prose  and 
verse  which  he  had  given  to  the  world,  there  was 
in  his  mind  an  overflow  of  reflections  on  all  the 
subjects  that  interested  him,  for  which  he  had  not 
been  able  to  find  a place.  With  advancing  years 
the  habit  of  meditating  on  all  the  experience  that 
life  presented  to  him,  and  condensing  in  aphoristic 
form  the  results  of  his  thinking,  became  the  prevailing 
tendency  among  his  mental  activities.  It  first 
appears  in  a marked  degree  after  he  had  passed 
middle  age ; we  have  the  evidences  of  it  in  his 
Epigrams,  in  the  Xenien,  and  in  the  Weissagungen 
des  Balds.  At  first  his  reflections  found  expression 
for  the  most  part  in  the  form  of  the  distich,  but  at 
a later  period  he  was  content  to  set  them  down  in 
plain  prose.  Such  are  the  maxims  that  appear  in 
the  diary  of  Ottilie  in  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften 
(1809),  where  they  are  so  strangely  out  of  place, 
and  in  the  Farbenlehre  (1810).  The  crop  of  them 
grew  steadily  from  year  to  year,  and  the  most 
VOL.  II.  S 


658  CLOSING  YEARS  OF  WORK 

abundant  harvest  was  brought  forth  in  the  last 
decade  of  his  life.  He  put  many  of  them  to  a 
singular  use ; regardless  of  all  artistic  propriety, 
he  emptied  them  into  Wilhelm  Meisters  W anderjahre 
simply  to  extend  that  work  to  its  desired  length. 
But  he  was  unwilling  that  any  of  his  wrords  should 
be  lost  to  the  world,  and  he  gave  instructions  to 
Eckermann  that  the  remaining  maxims  should  be 
published  under  three  heads  according  to  their 
subjects.  With  the  subsequent  additions  that  have 
been  made  to  them  they  number  over  twelve 
hundred. 1 

We  have  many  similar  collections  of  maxims 
and  observations  by  men  of  the  world,  by  men  of 
action  and  by  pure  thinkers,  but  for  range,  depth 
and  suggestiveness,  none  of  these  are  comparable 
to  those  of  Goethe.  Of  all  men  he,  perhaps,  lived 
the  fullest  life  of  intellect,  soul  and  sense ; there 
was  virtually  no  field  of  human  experience  that 
was  closed  to  him.  He  had  sounded  the  depths  of 
human  passion  and  climbed  the  highest  heights 
of  thought ; his  powers  of  mind  combined  in  unique 
degree  imagination  and  the  faculties  of  observation 
and  reflection ; to  man,  nature,  and  art  he  had 
given  equal  attention,  and  the  opportunities  of 
his  life  had  afforded  him  the  amplest  scope  for  his 
all-inquiring  scrutiny.  What  distinguishes  the  mass 
of  observations  he  has  left  behind  him,  therefore,  is 
the  extent  of  human  knowledge  and  experience  they 
cover.  As  we  should  expect  from  all  his  life’s 
striving,  they  are  characterized  by  a perfect  sincerity; 
they  never  aim  at  effect ; it  is  seldom  that  they  take 
an  epigrammatic  form  ; their  one  object  is  to  state 
as  briefly  as  possible  all  the  truth  that  occurs  to 
the  writer’s  mind  regarding  the  subject  which  is 

1 Loeper,  in  his  valuable  edition,  entitled  the  collection  Spriiche  in 
Prosa,  but  Reimer  and  Eckermann,  who  first  gave  them  to  the  world, 
chose  the  title  Maximen  und  Reflexionen.  Mr.  Bailey  Saunders  has  given 
a translation  of  most  of  them  in  his  Maxims  and  Reflections  of  Goethe  (1893,) 
with  an  interesting  Introduction. 


APHORISMS  659 

interesting  him.  Taken  as  a whole,  the  maxims 
form  for  the  world  a permanent  treasury  of  wise 
suggestion  in  the  various  domains  of  human  activity. 
And  the  world  has  made  ample  use  of  them ; 
wherever  there  is  strenuous  thinking,  their  words 
are  quoted  as  the  weightiest  that  can  be  adduced 
on  the  subject  under  consideration. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

D1GHTUN0  UND  WAHRHE1T—  WILHELM  MEISTER 

One  of  the  tasks  that  occupied  Goethe’s  closing 
years  of  work  was  the  completion  of  his  Auto- 
biography— Dichtung  und  Wahrheit.  Like  so  many 
of  his  other  books  it  had  been  long  on  the  anvil ; 
the  idea  of  writing  it,  indeed,  had  first  come  to  him 
as  far  back  as  August,  1808.  What  immediately 
prompted  him  to  the  undertaking  was  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  materials  for  Hackert’s  autobiography 
which  had  been  entrusted  to  him  for  publication.1 
But  there  were  other  reasons  that  induced  him  to 
think  that  the  narrative  would  be  an  acceptable 
gift  to  the  world.  The  first  complete  edition  of 
his  works  was  in  the  course  of  publication  (1806- 
1810),  and  there  was  a desire  on  the  part  of  his 
readers  for  some  commentary  that  would  q>resent 
them  in  their  organic  connection.  This  desire  he 
was  anxious  to  meet  and,  moreover,  it  appealed 
to  a predisposition  of  his  own.  He  had  always 
been  keenly  interested  in  the  biographies  of  other 
men,  and  had  found  equal  profit  and  pleasure  in 
them.  He  had  himself  translated  Benvenuto  Cellini, 
and  he  had  given  to  the  world  the  lives  of  Winckelman 
and  Hackert.  As  we  know,  too,  he  was  fully  aware 
of  the  importance  of  his  own  life’s  achievement, 
and  convinced  that  a history  of  the  mind  that 
produced  it  would  not  be  uninteresting  or  unprofit- 
able. 

The  attempt  to  give  a satisfactory  account  of  his 
writings  by  merely  arranging  them  in  chronological 

1 See  above,  p.  574 
600 


LIFE’S  CONFIDENCES  661 

order  and  by  annotations,  which  was  what  his 
friends  suggested,  he  found,  for  various  reasons, 
impracticable.  He  felt  that  only  by  a general 
survey  of  his  life  could  he  present  an  adequate 
interpretation  of  the  essential  characteristics  of  his 
works,  and  of  the  conditions  that  had  prompted 
and  determined  them.  The  title  he  chose,  Aus 
meinem  Leben ; Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,1  expresses 
his  conception  of  the  treatment  by  which  his  object 
could  be  most  effectively  attained.  It  was  not  to 
be  a detailed  and  consecutive  story  of  his  life  as 
a whole,  but  the  fruit  of  a selective  process  which 
would  present  in  relief  such  incidents  and  experiences 
as  had  most  directly  and  potently  influenced  his 
character  and  his  genius.  The  precise  import  of 
the  words,  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  he  has  himself 
been  careful  to  explain.  “ I called  it  Dichtung  und 
Wahrheit ,”  he  told  Eckermann,  “ because  it  raises 
itself  by  higher  tendencies  from  the  region  of  a 
lower  Reality  ” ; and  he  further  declared  to 
Eckermann  that  the  book  contained  merely  results 
from  his  life  and  that  the  facts  it  related  served 
only  “ to  confirm  a general  observation,  a higher 
truth.”  In  a letter  to  Zelter  he  explained  at  greater 
length  what  he  exactly  meant  by  “ poetry  and 
truth,”  and  the  passage  may  be  quoted  as  serving 
to  show  what  we  are  to  look  for  in  the  book. 

“ As  to  the  title  of  my  life’s  confidences — Wahrheit 
und  Dichtung — which  is  certainly  somewhat  para- 
doxical, I adopted  it  because  my  experience  is  that 
the  public  always  entertains  some  doubt  as  to  the 
truthfulness  of  such  biographical  efforts.  To  meet 
this,  I acknowledge  to  have  written  a kind  of  fiction  ; 
driven  to  it,  to  some  extent  unnecessarily,  by  a 
certain  spirit  of  contradiction.  For  it  was  my  most 

1 Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  was  the  sub-title  of  the  editions  of  the  first 
three  Parts  which  appeared  in  Goethe’s  lifetime,  as  for  euphonic  reasons 
he  preferred  it  to  Wahrheit  und  Dichtung.  In  the  editions  published  after 
his  death  by  Riemer  and  Eckermann,  the  latter  title  was  substituted.  In 
Loeper’s  edition  (1876)  the  original  title  was  restored,  and  subsequent 
editions  have  followed  the  precedent. 


662  DICHTUNG  UND  WAHRHEIT 

earnest  endeavour,  as  far  as  possible,  to  represent 
and  express  the  genuine,  fundamental  truth,  which, 
as  far  as  I could  see  into  it,  had  prevailed  throughout 
my  life.  But  if  such  a thing  is  not  possible  in 
later  years  without  the  co-operation  of  memory 
and,  therefore,  of  the  imaginative  faculty,  so  that, 
in  one  way  or  other,  we  never  fail  to  exercise  the 
poetic  gift,  then  it  is  clear  that  we  shall  present 
and  bring  into  relief  the  results  and  the  past  as  it 
seems  to  us  now,  rather  than  the  individual  events, 
as  they  happened  then.  For  does  not  the  most 
ordinary  chronicle  necessarily  embody  something 
of  the  spirit  of  the  time  in  which  it  was  written  ? 

. . . Under  the  word  Dichtung  I comprised  all  that 
belongs  to  the  narrator  and  the  narrative,  so  that 
I could  make  use  of  the  truth  of  which  I was  conscious 
for  my  own  ends.”  1 

As  to  the  actual  facts  of  his  past  Goethe  used 
every  endeavour  to  inform  himself  accurately,  but 
the  materials  at  his  disposal  left  much  to  be  desired. 
His  mother,  who  could  have  supplied  him  with 
full  information  concerning  his  jmuthful  years  in 
Frankfort,  was  dead  before  the  thought  of  under- 
taking the  work  had  occurred  to  him,2  and  he  had 
to  be  satisfied  with  such  fragmentary  communica- 
tions as  Bettina  had  received  from  her.3  Moreover, 
as  we  know,  in  1807  he  had  burned  all  the  letters 
that  had  been  addressed  to  him,  so  that  in  1811, 
when  lie  began  to  write,  he  had  neither  originals 
nor  copies  of  most  of  the  letters  which  he  had  written 
to  others.  It  was  mainly,  therefore,  on  his  own 
memories  and  the  memories  of  such  relatives  and 
friends  as  were  still  living  that  he  had  to  rely  for 
his  narrative,  supplemented  to  a certain  extent  by 

1 A.  W.  Coleridge’s  t ranslation. 

2 His  mother  died  in  August,  1808,  the  year  when  the  idea  of  writing 
his  Autobiography  first  ooourred  to  him. 

3 In  writing  to  Bettina  for  information  regarding  his  youthful  days, 
he  tells  her  that  he  does  not  know  whether  the  book  will  turn  out  a history 
or  a romance. 


ITS  PLAN  663 

wliat  he  himself  and  others  had  published  during  the 
periods  of  his  life  which  he  had  to  treat. 

With  this  conception  in  his  mind,  he  drafted  a 
prehminary  sketch  of  his  Autobiography  in  October, 
1809,  but  it  was  not  till  January,  1811,  that  he  began 
its  composition  in  the  form  in  which  we  have  it. 
So  assiduously  did  he  address  himself  to  his  task 
that  in  the  course  of  that  year  he  finished  and 
published  Part  I.,  comprising  the  first  five  Books. 
In  these  Books,  which  deal  with  his  boyhood  in 
Frankfort,  there  is  more  of  Dichtung  than  in  any  of 
those  that  follow  ; even  conversations  being  recorded 
as  if  from  verbatim  reports.  In  the  following  year 
Part  II.  (Books  VI. -X.)  appeared,  containing  the 
narrative  of  his  Leipzig  and  Strassburg  days  ; and 
in  1814,  Part  III.  (Books  NI.-XV.),  which  brings  the 
story  down  to  the  period  immediately  preceding  his 
relations  with  Lili  Schonemann.  There  followed  a 
long  interval  during  which  the  work  was  virtually 
laid  aside.  It  was  not  till  November,  1830,  that  he 
seriously  resumed  it.  By  October,  1831,  he  had 
completed  Part  IV.  (Books  XVI. -XX.),  which  con- 
cluded the  narrative  of  his  life  he  deemed  fitting  to 
give  to  the  world.1  Of  all  the  portions  of  the  work 
this  last  Part  is  the  most  fragmentary  and  disjointed  ; 
it  bears  visible  marks  of  haste  or  embarrassment. 
His  relations  with  Lili  are  its  main  theme,  and  it 
conducts  us  to  the  eve  of  his  settlement  in  Weimar. 
Out  of  a life  of  eighty-two  years,  therefore,  we 
have  in  Diclitung  und  Wahrheit  the  story  of  only 
twenty-six. 

As  with  almost  all  Goethe’s  longer  works,  opinion 
has  been  divided  on  the  merits  and  value  of  Dichtung 
und  Wahrheit  since  the  day  of  its  appearance.  In 
Germany  it  confirmed  the  opinion  of  those  who 
regarded  him  as  an  “ immoral  egoist  ” — an  opinion 
that  still  widely  prevails  in  that  country.  The 
story  of  his  relations  with  Friederike  shocked  men 
like  Niebuhr,  and  more  than  any  other  incident  in 

1 Part  IV.  was  published  by  Eckermann  in  1833. 


664  DICHTUNG  UND  WAHRHEIT 

his  life  has  discredited  him  in  his  own  and  other 
countries.  On  the  other  hand,  there  has  always 
been  a minority  of  his  countrymen  who  have 
regarded  the  book  as  one  of  Germany’s  national 
possessions,  to  which  no  other  country  can  show 
anything  comparable.  At  the  time  of  its  appearance 
it  was  slightingly  received  both  in  France  and  in 
England.  Madame  de  Stael,  who  had  an  appreciative 
admiration  of  Goethe’s  genius,  had  no  high  opinion 
of  it,  and  it  was  satirically  reviewed  in  the  Paris 
journals.  In  the  Edinburgh  Review  De  Quincey 
wrote  an  amusing  notice  of  the  first  three  Parts, 
in  which  he  speaks  of  its  “ puerile  vanity  and 
affectation,”  and  its  “ interminable  prolixity  in 
trifling  matters,”  but  admits  that  “it  is  not  by  any 
means  unentertaining.” 

Apart  from  ethical  considerations,  opinion  has 
been  divided  regarding  its  value  as  a piece  of  auto- 
biography. Our  estimate  of  the  book  will  be 
determined  by  what  we  look  for  in  it ; if  we  expect 
a vivid  presentment  of  Goethe  in  the  successive 
stages  of  his  boyhood  and  youth,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  we  do  not  find  it.  It  has  been  said  of  St. 
Augustine  that,  when  he  wrote  his  Confessions,  he 
was  “ in  the  torrent,  not  watching  it  from  the  shore.” 
It  is  otherwise  with  Goethe  and  his  Dichtung  und 
Wahrheit  ; as  one  of  his  most  enthusiastic  editors  1 
has  expressed  it,  for  Goethe  “ the  campaign  was 
over,  his  wounds  cicatrized,”  when  he  sat  down  to 
write  it.  Of  the  distracted  youth  in  his  Leipzig 
days,  whose  passions  and  excesses  resulted  in  moral 
and  physical  collapse,  the  Autobiography  gives  us 
but  a faint  picture.  He  says  of  his  experiences 
in  Wetzlar  with  Lotte  Buff  and  her  betrothed, 
Kestner,  that  they  were  of  “no  great  significance,” 
yet  his  correspondence  of  the  time  would  lead  us 
to  believe  that  they  were  of  such  a nature  as  to 
upset  his  mental  and  moral  balance,  which  he  only 
recovered  by  discharging  his  morbid  emotions  in 
1 G.  von  Loeper. 


CRITICAL  APPRECIATION  665 

Werther.  Readers,  disappointed  in  what  they  expect 
to  find  in  an  autobiography,  will  judge  the  book 
as  a whole  unfavourably.  It  appears  to  them  a 
schematized  work,  in  which  the  author,  in  accordance 
with  a preconceived  theory,  has  arbitrarily  selected 
certain  incidents  of  his  life  and  interpreted  them  in 
consistency  with  that  theory.  Such  digressions 
as  those  on  the  Bible  history,  the  coronation  of 
the  Emperors,  the  Imperial  Court  of  Justice,  the 
state  of  German  literature,  may  be  interesting  in 
themselves,  but  they  come  between  us  and  the 
passionate  youth  whose  idiosyncrasies  it  is  our 
primary  wish  to  see  in  their  spontaneous  working. 
Instead  of  being  valuable  and  artistic  additions  to 
the  work,  these  digressions  are  to  be  regarded  as 
another  illustration  of  the  curious  weakness  of 
Goethe,  especially  perceptible  in  his  old  age, — his 
inability  to  keep  out  of  any  work  on  which  he 
happened  to  be  engaged,  irrelevant  matter  which 
at  the  moment  was  interesting  him.  It  is  a fre- 
quent remark  of  Goethe’s  own  that,  by  the  time  he 
began  to  write  his  Autobiography,  he  had  come  to 
regard  himself  as  an  historical  person  ; and  the  result 
is  that  the  character  presented  in  its  pages  is  not 
the  youthful  Goethe,  but  the  aged  Goethe  who 
intellectualizes  all  emotions,  and  diffuses  “ the  pale 
cast  of  thought  ” over  the  ebullient  passions  of 
his  youth.  This  was  why  Lewes  refused  to  accept 
Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  as  a safe  or  enlightening 
guide  for  the  period  of  Goethe’s  life  which  it  narrates, 
and  why  Henry  Sidgwick,  so  keenly  interested  in 
Goethe,  was  led  to  say  that  no  one  was  ever  attracted 
to  the  hero  it  depicts. 

For  other  minds  it  is  precisely  the  fact  that 
Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  is  an  artistically  conceived 
and  finished  work  that  constitutes  its  interest  and 
value,  and  it  is  this  peculiarity  that  differentiates  it 
from  other  autobiographies,  such  as  the  Confessions 
of  St.  Augustine  and  of  Rousseau.  We  have  Goethe, 
in  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers,  presenting  us  with 


666  DIGHTUNG  UND  WAHRHEIT 

a construction  of  his  life  in  the  most  interesting 
period  of  his  development,  as  a typical  illustration 
of  how  the  individual  acts  and  reacts  on  his  environ- 
ment. Such  a work,  they  hold,  is  of  greater  value 
than  if  Goethe  had,  so  far  as  was  possible  to  him, 
sought  to  reproduce  in  himself  the  passions  of  his 
youth  and  to  express  them  with  corresponding 
intensity.  In  adopting  this  method  of  treating 
himself  as  an  historical  person,  he  was  free  to  reflect 
on  all  that  he  had  felt  and  seen  and  done,  to  distinguish 
what  seemed  to  him  material  or  immaterial  in  his 
life’s  experience,  and  so  to  present  it  as  a rational 
unity.  His  deliberate  reflections  on  his  past  thus 
convey  more  instruction  than  a vivid  resuscitation 
of  it  would  have  done.  Goethe,  Emerson  says, 
saw  himself  as  a third  person  and  “ his  faults  and 
delusions  interest  him  equally  with  his  successes  ” ; 
and  this  Avas  characteristic  of  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit 
in  which  Emerson  found  its  originality.  Whatever 
may  be  our  individual  impressions  of  its  intrinsic 
value,  it  has  taken  its  place  in  universal  literature 
as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  transcripts  of  human 
experience. 

It  is  a natural  transition  from  Dichtung  und 
Wahrheit  to  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre.  Every 
romance,  it  has  been  said,  is  an  autobiographA',  and 
the  remark  is  peculiarly  applicable  to  Goethe’s 
famous  novel.  The  most  important  materials  of 
six  of  the  eight  Books  that  compose  it  are  drawn 
from  his  own  personal  experience.  And  it  is  not 
only  incidents  and  events  of  his  OAvn  life  that  he 
utilizes  for  artistic  purposes ; the  record  of  his 
hero’s  moral  and  intellectual  development  is  in 
great  measure  a transcript  of  his  oavq.  In  other 
Avorks  Goethe  gives  us  a partial  portrait  of  himself  ; 
in  the  Weislingen  of  Gotz,  in  Werther,  Clavigo,  and 
Tasso  there  is  manifestly  self-portraiture,  but  it  is 
only  the  emotional  side  of  his  nature  that  all  these 
characters  present.  In  Meister  we  haA~e  Goethe’s 
counterpart,  endowed  with  a like  temperament  and 


WILHELM  ME1STER  667 

like  gifts,  inspired  with  the  same  ideals,  pursuing 
them  by  the  same  paths,  and  finally  arriving  at 
a philosophy  of  life  which  was  Goethe’s  own.1 
Apart,  therefore,  from  its  general  interest  as  one 
of  the  most  widely  suggestive  of  imaginative  works 
that  have  appeared  in  modern  times,  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Lehrjahre  has  a biographical  value  which 
makes  it  an  essential  supplement  to  Dichtung  und 
Wahrheit. 

The  fortunate  discovery  of  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Theatralische  Sendung  has  cast  a clear  light  on  the 
origins  of  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre .2  Now  we 
know  that  the  former  work  was  written  in  Weimar 
before  Goethe’s  Italian  journey,  and  that  its  hero 
was  to  fulfil  his  destiny  in  connection  with  the  stage. 
Only  six  Books  of  the  Sendung  were  finished,  and 
the  plan  of  the  six  Books  which  were  to  follow  and 
which  we  know  that  Goethe  drafted,  has  not  been 
preserved.  He  started  on  his  Italian  journey  in 
the  autumn  of  1786,  and  it  was  not  till  1794  that  he 
seriously  resumed  the  book  with  the  intention  of 
completing  it.  The  manifold  experiences  through 
which  he  had  passed  in  the  interval  could  not  but 
influence  his  judgment  on  its  original  aim  and 
scope.  The  Italian  journey,  his  breach  with  Frau 
von  Stein,  his  domestic  arrangement  with  Christiane 
Vulpius,  his  personal  isolation  during  the  years 
that  followed  his  return  from  Italy,  his  absorption 
in  science,  the  French  Revolution : these  were 

events  and  experiences  which  profoundly  modified 
his  general  outlook  on  men  and  things.  When  he 
now  addressed  himself  to  the  completion  of  the 
Theatralische  Sendung,  therefore,  it  is  not  surprising 
that  the  original  plan  no  longer  satisfied  him,  and 
that  there  presented  itself  to  his  extended  interests 
and  outlook  a larger  conception  which  should  give 
the  completed  whole  a higher  and  wider  significance 
and  value. 

1 At  one  time  Goethe  called  Wilhelm  his  “geliebtes  dramatisches 
Ebenbild  ” ; at  another  he  was  to  him  “ ein  armer  Hunch” 

2 See  above,  p.  568. 


668 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 


As  usual,  it  was  external  pressure  that  occasioned 
his  resuming  work  on  the  Sendung.  In  1792  an 
edition  of  his  Neue  Schriften  had  been  begun,  and 
he  came  under  a promise  to  his  publisher  Unger 
to  enrich  it  with  the  addition  of  his  unfinished 
novel,  which  he  undertook  to  complete.  By  a 
fortunate  chance  the  year  (1794)  in  which  he  began 
his  task  was  the  year  in  which  he  entered  on  his 
stimulating  association  with  Schiller.  It  is,  indeed, 
an  interesting  circumstance  connected  with  the 
production  of  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre  that 
both  their  minds  were  at  work  upon  it.  But  for 
Schiller,  Goethe  frankly  admits,  the  book  would 
never  have  been  finished.  As  the  work  proceeded, 
it  was  regularly  submitted  to  Schiller,  whose 
criticisms  and  suggestions,  not  alwaj^s  accepted  and 
not  always  happy,  gave  the  stimulus  which  was 
invariably  necessary  to  Goethe  in  the  case  of  his 
longer  productions. 

With  his  new  conception  of  the  governing  idea 
of  his  work,  Goethe  had  a difficulty  to  face  in  his 
dealing  with  the  unfinished  Sendung.  In  the  original 
plan  of  this  work  the  career  of  its  hero  was  to  be 
that  of  a youth  finding  the  fulfilment  of  his  destiny, 
first  as  an  actor,  then  as  manager  of  a theatre  which 
was  to  exalt  the  stage  into  an  agency  of  national 
education — Goethe’s  own  aspiration  when  he  wrote 
the  book.  That  plan  abandoned,  the  Sendung  could 
not  be  taken  over  as  it  stood.  Goethe  has  himself 
explained  his  procedure  with  it ; he  was  onty  its 
editor,  he  told  Schiller.  In  consistency  with  this 
attitude  he  shortened  the  original  by  a third,  deleted 
some  passages,  transposed  and  rewrote  others.  In 
spite  of  these  alterations  and  adaptations,  however, 
he  himself  admits  that  he  could  not  entirely  get  rid 
of  the  early  treatment,  and  the  result  was  seriously 
detrimental  to  the  transformed  work.  Long  passages 
which  had  their  appropriate  place  in  the  Sendung 
are  irrelevant  and  distracting  in  the  Lehrjahre. 
This  is  notably  apparent  in  the  disproportionate 


METHOD  OF  COMPOSITION  669 


attention  given  to  the  theatre  and  the  drama,  which, 
as  Schiller  pointed  out,  would  at  times  give  the 
impression  that  the  book  was  written  for  actors  and 
not  for  the  general  reader.  The  adaptation  of  the 
earlier  work  and  the  composition  of  two  additional 
Books  occupied  Goethe  during  three  years  (1794-6)  ; 
the  first  volume  was  published  in  1794,  the  second 
in  1795,  and  the  fourth  and  last  in  1796,  and  it  is 
to  be  noted  that  the  first  volume  bore  the  title, 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre,  an  indication  of  the 
altered  plan. 

The  first  Book  of  the  Lehrjahre  hardly  suggests 
a different  motive  from  that  of  the  Sendung.  We 
are  in  the  same  world,  and  we  have  the  same  leading 
characters  in  similar  relations  and  with  like  idio- 
syncrasies. Only  in  the  sequence  of  events  do  we 
find  any  important  change  on  the  original  draft. 
The  book  opens  with  a scene  which  might  raise 
the  expectation  of  an  ordinary  sensational  novel. 
Mariane,  a pretty  actress,  is  in  the  predicament  of 
having  two  lovers  between  whose  claims  she  has 
to  decide.  The  one  is  Norberg,  a rich  merchant, 
who  at  the  moment  happens  to  be  on  a business 
journey  ; the  other  is  Wilhelm  Meister,  the  son  of 
a merchant,  resident  in  the  town.  Left  to  herself, 
Mariane  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in  choosing 
between  the  rivals  ; her  relations  to  Norberg  were 
a mere  convenient  arrangement,  but  to  Wilhelm 
she  had  given  her  heart.  At  her  side,  however, 
she  has  an  attendant,  Barbara,  an  aged  crone,  who 
takes  a business  view  of  the  two  claimants.  While 
Norberg  is  rich  and  generous,  Wilhelm  is  impecunious, 
and,  in  Barbara’s  opinion,  only  “ a soft-hearted, 
callow  merchant’s  son.”  She  urges  Mariane,  there- 
fore, to  throw  over  Wilhelm  and  make  sure  of 
Norberg  who  is  in  a position  to  maintain  them  both 
in  easy  circumstances.  But  Mariane,  though  of  a 
yielding  disposition,  is  not  a Manon  Lescaut  and  is 
capable  of  devotion  to  a penniless  lover.  At  the 
risk  of  losing  Norberg  she  gives  herself  to  Wilhelm, 


670 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 

who,  on  his  part,  regards  her  as  the  impersonation 
of  all  that  his  soul  and  mind  desire.  For  we  soon 
discover  that  he  is  no  ordinary  lover.  Before  he 
met  Mariane,  he  was  possessed  with  a passion  for 
theatrical  representations  which  made  work-a-day 
life  increasingly  flat  and  irksome.  A constant 
attender  of  the  theatre,  when  he  saw  Mariane  in 
her  various  parts  as  a member  of  a travelling  troupe, 
he  felt  that  the  dream  of  his  life  was  realized.  His 
fate  linked  with  hers,  love  and  inspiration  would 
be  one  impulse,  and  together  they  would  fulfil  the 
destiny  which  he  was  assured  had  been  allotted  to 
him. 

The  scenes  that  follow  are  an  interesting  com- 
mentary on  the  workings  of  Goethe’s  own  mind. 
In  seven  successive  chapters  Wilhelm  expounds 
to  Mariane  the  origin  and  growth  of  his  interest 
in  the  stage.  Here  we  have  a transcript  from 
Goethe’s  own  experience ; for  Wilhelm,  like  himself, 
dated  his  interest  in  theatrical  representations  from 
a puppet-show  which  had  amused  his  childhood. 
Producing  his  puppets  before  Mariane  and  Barbara, 
he  exhibits  their  performances  with  an  accompanying 
commentary  on  his  associations  with  them.  With 
a consciousness  that  he  is  giving  way  to  his  own 
predilections  and  ignoring  his  readers,  Goethe  makes 
Mariane  fall  asleep  during  the  dissertation — a natural 
enough  result,  most  readers  admit.  These  chapters 
are,  indeed,  only  another  illustration  of  Goethe’s 
inability  to  withhold  from  a work  of  art  what  happens 
to  interest  himself,  however  inappropriate  to  its 
primary  purpose. 

Wilhelm’s  dissertation  finished,  the  narrative 
begins  to  move.  If  Mariane  has  her  difficulties, 
Wilhelm  also  has  his.  There  are  three  persons 
interested  in  his  career — his  father,  his  father’s 
partner  in  business,  Werner,  and  Werner’s  son. 
All  of  them  are  practically  minded  persons,  and 
regard  with  equal  disapproval  his  dislike  of  business 
and  his  fantastic  notions  generally.  The  two  fathers 


THE  NARRATIVE  671 

take  counsel,  and,  in  the  hope  of  his  acquiring  more 
wisdom,  they  send  him  on  a j ourney  connected  with 
the  interests  of  their  firm.  What  befell  him  on 
his  travels  would  have  cured  him  of  his  theatrical 
dreams,  had  these  not  been  compact  with  his  deepest 
nature.  The  one  notable  incident  of  his  journey 
is  his  meeting  with  an  actor  who  has  run  off  with 
a respectable  citizen’s  daughter  to  the  scandal  of 
the  community.  Wilhelm,  who  is  a veritable  Don 
Quixote  in  the  generosity  of  his  impulses,  succeeds 
in  reconciling  the  pair  with  the  woman’s  parents. 
The  squalor  of  the  whole  affair  disgusts  him,  and 
his  feelings  are  still  more  revolted  by  the  manner 
in  which  the  actor,  to  whom  he  has  done  such  a 
kind  office,  denounces  his  own  profession  as  the  most 
contemptible  of  occupations.  In  consistency  with 
his  idealism  Wilhelm  sets  this  down  as  the  miserable 
prejudice  of  one  who  has  no  divine  calling  to  his 
art,  and  he  returns  home  as  enthusiastic  as  ever 
for  Mariane  and  the  ideals  she  embodies.  He 
resolves  to  take  the  decisive  step  which  will  determine 
his  destiny  ; he  writes  a passionate  letter  to  her 
in  which  he  offers  her  his  hand ; announces  his 
intention  of  leaving  his  home  and  seeking  an  engage- 
ment with  a theatrical  manager  of  his  acquaintance  ; 
and  pictures  the  glorious  future  before  them,  when 
in  their  respective  parts  they  will  show  to  the  world 
what  an  agency  the  stage  may  be  made  for  the 
uplifting  of  humanity.  With  the  letter  in  his  pocket 
he  makes  one  of  his  nightly  visits  to  Mariane,  but, 
finding  her  indisposed,  he  does  not  deliver  it ; and 
in  a state  of  exaltation  wanders  about  the  streets 
in  the  darkness,  as  Goethe  himself  had  done  in  the 
distracted  days  before  he  left  Frankfort  and  finally 
parted  from  Lili  Schonemann.  But  the  fabric  of 
Wilhelm’s  dream  was  to  be  woefully  shattered.  In 
the  course  of  his  night-wandering  he  saw  a figure 
issue  from  Mariane’s  residence,  and  the  suspicion 
raised  by  this  incident  became  a certainty,  when  in 
the  same  hour  he  read  a letter  that  fell  from  a 


672 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 


neckerchief  of  Mariane’s  which  he  had  carried  off 
as  a love-token.  Stunned  by  his  discovery,  he  breaks 
down  in  body  and  mind,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
first  Book  we  leave  him  a mental  and  moral 
wreck. 

When  the  second  Book  opens,  three  years  have 
elapsed,  and,  in  the  interval,  Wilhelm,  disillusioned 
by  the  faithlessness  of  his  mistress  and  with  his 
confidence  in  his  gifts  destroyed,  applied  himself 
to  the  routine  of  business  with  such  assiduity  and 
success  that  his  father  and  Werner  determined  to 
send  him  on  another  commercial  journey  with  the 
express  commission  of  collecting  the  debts  due  to 
their  firm.  In  the  way  in  which  Wilhelm  carried 
out  his  commission  we  are  reminded  of  a passage 
in  Goethe’s  own  life.  When  his  father  sent  him 
to  the  University  of  Leipzig,  it  was  on  the  under- 
standing that  he  should  devote  himself  to  the  study 
of  law,  but  Goethe  confided  to  his  sister  Cornelia 
that  he  had  no  such  intention  and  that  he  meant 
to  follow  his  own  bent,  which  he  certainly  did. 
Wilhelm  does  not  proceed  far  on  his  journey  before 
his  commission  becomes  a subsidiary  consideration. 
Wherever  he  goes,  he  happens  to  stumble  across 
actors  or  persons  interested  in  acting.  In  the  first 
village  he  comes  to,  a solitary  mountain  spot,  he 
witnesses  a dramatic  performance  enacted  by  the 
workmen  connected  with  a manufactory.  Leaving 
this  place,  he  descends  into  the  level  country,  and 
descrying  an  inviting  little  town,  he  resolves  to 
spend  a few  days  there,  though  he  has  no  business 
to  transact  in  it.  The  first  sight  that  greets  him 
is  a travelling  circus,  and  in  the  course  of  the  day 
he  makes  acquaintance  with  the  members  of  a 
disbanded  troupe  of  actors.  His  former  interest 
in  the  stage  revives,  and,  as  the  days  pass,  he  finds 
himself  among  such  a motley  company  that  Niebuhr 
described  them  as  a menagerie.  Yet,  whether  we 
like  them  or  not,  the  leading  characters  among 
them  are  so  pregnantly  characterized  that  they 


THE  TROUPE  OF  PLAYERS  673 

are  among  the  imaginative  creations  we  cannot 
forget. 

In  painting  this  strange  gallery,  it  is  to  be 
remembered,  Goethe  was  not  wholly  drawing  on 
his  imagination.  During  his  early  years  in  Weimar 
he  had  been  a member  of  an  amateur  troupe  which, 
in  its  travels  about  the  Duchy,  would  supply  him 
with  incidents  and  observations  of  which  he  doubt- 
less made  ample  use.  The  easy  morals  of  the 
company  in  which  Wilhelm  found  himself,  their 
characteristics,  their  coarse  play,  their  petty 
jealousies  had  all  their  counterparts,  we  may  be 
sure,  among  the  courtier  troupe  of  Weimar.  The 
world  in  which  Goethe  chose  to  place  his  hero  wrould, 
indeed,  seem  expressly  fitted  to  disenchant  him 
with  the  stage  and  to  dissolve  his  dream  of  its  ideal 
possibilities.  The  ill-conditioned  Melina,1  selfish  and 
self-seeking,  the  madcap  Friedrich,  and  the  cynical 
Laertes  are  all  naturally  repellent  to  him.  Among 
the  women  the  peevish  Madame  Melina,  without 
a spark  of  idealism  in  her  nature,  was  his  perpetual 
cross.  The  coquettish  Philina,  with  her  total  dis- 
regard of  conventional  decencies,  treats  him  as 
a child  and  frankly  tells  him  that  he  is  not  a man. 
Only  in  two  of  the  characters,  Mignon  and  the 
Harper,  do  his  sympathies  find  scope,  and  even  they 
make  their  appeal  to  his  heart  and  not  to  his  mind. 
Among  all  the  company  there  is  not  one  who 
intelligently  and  sympathetically  responds  to  his 
aspirations  after  an  ennobled  stage.  To  con- 

temporary critics  who  objected  to  his  having  placed 
his  hero  among  such  a crew,  Goethe’s  answer  was 
that,  if  he  had  made  his  characters  respectable 
persons,  he  would  have  lost  his  artistic  freedom. 
And  it  may  be  added  that  in  retaining  his  idealism 
amid  such  surroundings  Wilhelm  gives  proof  that 
he  was  not  altogether  the  weakling  which  many 
of  his  actions  would  lead  us  to  infer.  We  may  set 
it  down  either  to  his  weakness  or  to  his  idealism 

1 Melina  was  the  actor  whom  Wilhelm  had  met  on  his  first  journey. 

VOL.  II.  T 


674  THE  LEHRJAHRE 

that,  after  some  hesitation  and  some  qualms  of 
conscience,  he  yields  to  Melina’s  solicitations  and 
supplies  him  with  the  means  (taken  from  the  debts 
he  has  collected)  to  purchase  a theatrical  wardrobe 
and  thus  to  form  an  acting  company.  Such  are 
the  main  incidents  of  the  second  Book,  in  which 
it  is  difficult  to  discover  a motive  other  than  that 
of  the  Theatralische  Sendung.  But  of  all  the  Books 
of  the  Lehrjahre  it  is  the  one  which  makes  the 
strongest  impression  of  Goethe’s  creative  power. 
The  vivacity  of  its  scenes,  the  brilliant  play  of  its 
contrasted  characters,  and  its  general  spontaneity 
are,  perhaps,  unequalled  in  any  other  of  his 
imaginative  writings.1 

In  the  third  Book  we  are  introduced  to  another 
Order  of  society.  A neighbouring  Count  and  Countess 
are  about  to  receive  the  visit  of  a Prince  and,  to 
entertain  him,  they  invite  Melina’s  troupe  to  their 
castle.  Wilhelm  has  not  joined  the  troupe,  but 
as,  like  Goethe,  he  was  convinced  that  only  in  the 
class  of  the  nobility  could  the  perfection  of  external 
manners  be  seen,  he  is  desirous  of  the  experience 
which  the  opportunity  offered,  and  he  resolves  to 
accompany  them.  The  contemptuous  manner  in 
which  the  company  is  treated  throughout  their 
stay  at  the  castle  is  at  least  consistent  with  the 
conceptions  of  their  profession  which  are  assigned 
to  them.  It  is  to  be  said,  however,  that  the  specimens 
of  the  nobility  whom  Wilhelm  meets  are  not  more 
creditable  to  their  class.  The  Count  and  Countess 
are  irresponsible  idlers,  devoid  of  serious  purpose  ; 
a baron,  who  is  among  the  guests,  is  a foolish 
dilettante  who  writes  plays  and  is  interested  in  the 
German  stage,  and  his  wife  finds  her  chief  pleasure 
in  mischievous  practical  jokes.  The  most  notable 
experience  of  Wilhelm  at  the  castle  is  his  intercourse 
with  Jarno,  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world, 
of  cold,  clear  intelligence,  who,  as  afterwards  appears, 
has  a special  interest  in  his  career.  It  is  Jarno’s 

1 These  scenes  were  taken  over  from  the  Theatralische  Sendung. 


READING  OF  SHAKESPEARE  675 

part  to  introduce  him  to  Shakespeare  and  with  a 
similar  result  in  his  case  as  in  that  of  his  creator. 
The  reading  of  Shakespeare  is  an  epoch  in  Wilhelm’s 
life  as  it  was  in  that  of  Goethe,  and,  like  Goethe, 
he  falls  into  ecstasies  over  the  marvel  of  Shakespeare’s 
genius.  The  discovery  of  Shakespeare  marks  an 
advance  in  his  intellectual  development,  and  a 
somewhat  far-fetched  incident  during  his  stay  at 
the  castle  links  his  external  history  with  personages 
who  appear  at  a later  stage.  The  mischievous 
baroness  dresses  Wilhelm  in  the  night-robe  of  the 
Count,  who,  entering  the  room  and  seeing  Wilhelm 
seated  in  his  easy- chair,  takes  him  for  his  wraith, 
with  serious  consequences  both  to  himself  and  to 
the  Countess.  The  last  scene  of  the  Book  is  one 
of  not  a few  that  makes  the  modern  reader  uncom- 
fortable. The  Countess’s  heart  had  been  touched 
by  Wilhelm,  who  is  represented  as  a personable 
as  well  as  a susceptible  youth,  and  there  had  been 
love  passages  between  them,  but  in  this  closing 
scene  she  gives  way  to  her  emotions,  and  there  is 
a mutual  embrace,  when  she  starts  up  in  dismay, 
“ and  adds  in  the  most  tender  and  affecting  voice  : 
‘Fly,  if  you  love  me.’”  When  we  remember  the 
relations  of  Goethe,  also  of  bourgeois  origin,  to  the 
Baroness  von  Stein,  we  may  think  it  in  doubtful 
taste  that  he  chose  to  paint  this  scene.1 

The  outbreak  of  war  compels  the  dispersion  of 
the  guests  at  the  castle  and  the  troupe  has  to  seek 
employment  elsewhere.  Wilhelm,  intoxicated  by 
his  draught  of  Shakespeare  and  by  the  favours  of 
the  Countess,  is  in  the  highest  spirits  and  confident 
of  his  future  as  the  creator  of  a national  theatre. 
He  identifies  himself  with  the  troupe  ; proposes, 
as  an  excellent  arrangement,  that  the  post  of  manager 
should  be  filled  in  turn;  and  is  himself  the  first  to 
be  elected.  As  an  outward  expression  of  his  inward 
man,  he  assumes  a fantastical  dress,  as  Goethe  donned 
the  Werther  costume  on  his  journey  to  Switzerland 

1 Frau  von  Stein  disliked  Wilhelm  Meister  as  a whole. 


676 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 


with  the  Stolbergs.  He  endeavours  to  inspire  the 
company  with  his  own  ideals  of  their  profession  ; 
persuades  them  to  practise  rehearsals,  and  for  their 
edification  delivers  the  famous  disquisition  on  the 
character  of  Hamlet.  The  goal  of  their  journey 
was  a town  at  a considerable  distance,  but  the 
possibility  of  encountering  a party  of  military  led 
them  to  hesitate  regarding  the  road  they  were 
pursuing,  and,  unfortunately  for  himself,  Wilhelm 
persuades  them  not  to  change  their  original  plan 
for  what  was  only  vague  rumour.  Following  the 
same  route,  they  are  attacked  during  one  of  their 
encampments  by  a band  of  armed  men,  overpowered 
and  robbed.  Wilhelm,  who  had  made  a gallant 
fight,  is  shot  down  and,  when  he  awakes  to  conscious- 
ness, finds  himself  in  Philina’s  lap.  Just  at  this 
moment  an  incident  happens  which  was  to  be 
intimately  connected  with  his  future  destiny.  An 
elderly  gentleman  and  a young  lady,  accompanied 
by  a following  of  horsemen,  pass  the  spot,  and  give 
their  attention  to  the  wounded  man.  The  young 
lady,  especially,  shows  a lively  sympathy  with  his 
condition  and  before  parting  begs  the  old  gentleman’s 
overcoat  with  which  she  gently  covers  him.  Her 
beauty  and  her  display  of  tender  feeling  overcome 
him,  and  thenceforward  the  fair  Amazon,  as  he 
designates  her,  dominates  all  his  thoughts,  for  he 
has  a vague  dream  that  she  was  the  Countess  with 
whom  he  had  had  the  remarkable  interview  at  the 
castle.  Removed  to  an  inn  in  the  neighbouring 
village,  where  the  company  were  lodged,  he  is  the 
object  of  their  violent  abuse  as  the  cause  of  their 
misfortune  by  persuading  them  to  pursue  the  road 
which  had  led  to  it.  From  Pliilina,  also,  who  had 
contrived  to  save  her  goods  by  fascinating  the 
despoilers,  he  is  alienated  for  other  reasons,  and 
only  the  Harper  and  Mignon  remain  to  him.  Despite 
his  ill-treatment  by  the  companjy  he  resolves 
to  prosecute  his  career  as  an  actor,  and  with  his 
two  companions  he  proceeds  to  the  town  where 


THE  FIFTH  BOOK  677 

his  acquaintance,  Serlo,  is  the  manager  of  a 
theatre. 

It  was  in  the  fifth  Book  that  Goethe  found  it 
necessary  to  make  the  most  important  modifications 
on  the  Theatralische  Senclung  in  view  of  the  additional 
Books  that  were  to  continue  Wilhelm’s  history. 
One  of  the  richest  and  most  diversified  in  its  contents, 
it  is  full  of  mysterious  incidents  which  strike  the 
reader  as  forced  and  artificial.  Serlo  is  a clever 
and  effective  actor,  but  wanting  in  soul  and  un- 
scrupulous in  his  dealings.  He  thinks  he  can  make 
use  of  Wilhelm,  and  encourages  his  enthusiasm. 
They  have  much  talk  about  Hamlet,  and  Serlo 
agrees  to  put  it  on  the  stage,  with  Wilhelm  as  the 
principal  character.  A difficulty  arises  about  the 
personation  of  the  ghost,  but  an  anonymous 
communication  assures  them  that  a ghost  will 
be  forthcoming,  and,  when  the  play  is  produced, 
a ghost  does  appear  and  represents  the  part  to 
perfection.  On  the  veil  which  the  mysterious  appari- 
tion wore  in  enacting  the  part,  were  inscribed  the 
cryptic  words,  “ Fly,  youth,  fly,”  and  Wilhelm 
is  puzzled  by  their  import,  which  was  subsequently 
to  be  unravelled.  His  own  personation  of  Hamlet 
is  a brilliant  success,  but  Serlo  becomes  convinced 
that  such  high-class  representations  as  Wilhelm 
desired  do  not  appeal  to  the  people,  and  he  cabals 
with  Melina,  who,  with  his  troupe,  is  also  in  the  town, 
to  get  rid  of  Wilhelm. 

Wilhelm  is  aware  of  the  plot,  and  he  makes  up 
his  mind  to  break  his  connection  with  Serlo  and 
with  the  stage — a resolution  which  is  strengthened 
by  a combination  of  incidents.  The  Harper  becomes 
deranged,  attempts  to  set  the  house  on  fire,  and  is 
boarded  with  a clergyman  who  has  a part  to  play 
in  Wilhelm’s  future  history.  Serlo  has  a sister, 
Aurelia,  who  is  all  sentiment  as  her  brother  is  all 
intellect.  She  finds  a sympathetic  soul  in  Wilhelm, 
to  whom  she  relates  a melancholy  history  which 
is  another  link  with  his  future  fortunes.  Her  tale 


678 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 

is  that  she  had  been  led  astray  by  a neighbouring 
nobleman,  Lothario  by  name,  who  had  deserted 
her  and  her  child  Felix.  Broken-hearted  by  his 
treachery  and  coarsely  treated  by  her  brother,  she 
loses  all  interest  in  life  and  is  stricken  by  mortal 
illness.  To  console,  if  not  to  cure  her,  Wilhelm 
brings  a physician,  whose  acquaintance  he  has  made 
at  the  house  of  the  clergyman  with  whom  the  Harper 
is  boarded.  The  physician  sees  her  case  is  hopeless, 
but  he  promises  to  send  her  a manuscript  which 
she  will  read  with  interest.  The  manuscript  is  the 
Confessions  of  a Beautiful  Soul,  which  Goethe  thus 
prepares  his  reader  to  expect  in  the  following  Book. 
Aurelia’s  dying  charge  to  Wilhelm  is  to  seek  out 
her  betrayer,  and  put  in  his  hands  the  story  of  her  life 
which  will  bring  home  to  him  what  she  has  suffered 
by  his  conduct.  The  fifth  Book  closes  the  first 
stage  of  Wilhelm’s  apprenticeship,  and  he  then 
enters  on  another  and  a final  stage,  in  the  present- 
ment of  which  Goethe  develops  the  new  conception 
of  his  work. 

Wilhelm’s  history,  however,  is  not  immediately 
continued  ; there  intervenes  one  of  the  most  singular 
productions  of  Goethe’s  genius,  of  which  Schiller 
said  that  it  proceeded  less  from  his  own  individuality 
than  any  other  portion  of  the  book.  It  is  the 
Confessions  of  a Beautiful  Soul,  which  the  physician 
had  given  Aurelia  to  read  on  her  deathbed.  Its 
contents  form  a singular  contrast  to  Aurelia’s  own 
history,  so  unhappy  in  all  its  relations  and  darkened 
by  ill-regulated  passion  and  consequent  misery.  It 
is  the  history  of  a mind,  naturally  religious,  gradually 
finding  its  way,  amid  the  distractions  of  the  world, 
to  a mystical  repose.  Such  a representation,  Goethe 
himself  says,  w’ould  have  been  an  impossibility  for 
him,  had  he  not  had  the  opportunity  of  studying 
it  from  nature.  The  original  from  whom  he  drew 
the  portrait  was,  in  fact,  his  mother’s  friend,  Fraulein 
von  Klettenberg,  with  whom  he  himself  had  been 
in  such  affectionate  relations  in  his  early  youth. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  679 

It  has  been  conjectured,  indeed,  that  either  the 
entire  narrative  or  portions  of  it  were  from  the 
Fraulein’s  hand,  but  the  words  in  which  Goethe 
refers  to  the  Confessions  in  a letter  to  Schiller  seem 
to  imply  that  it  was  wholly  his  own  production. 
However  this  may  be,  the  story  of  the  Saint’s 
spiritual  growth  is  told  with  a directness,  precision, 
and  artistic  fitness  which  Goethe  has  surpassed 
nowhere  else.  Yet,  interesting  and  beautiful  though 
the  narrative  is,  it  cannot  but  be  regarded  as  an 
inartistic  interpolation,  and  as  another  proof  that 
the  aesthetic  instinct  was  not  the  dominating 
characteristic  of  his  genius.  By  it  he  no  doubt 
meant  to  represent  another  cultural  discipline,  in 
contrast  to  that  which  he  assigns  to  Wilhelm,  a 
discipline  in  which  piety  is  the  supreme  end  ; but, 
as  Schiller  felt,  he  has  done  so  at  the  expense  of 
the  integrity  of  his  work  as  a whole.  How  Goethe 
regarded  the  experiences  of  the  Saint  he  told  Schiller 
plainly ; they  were  “ based  upon  the  noblest  of 
illusions  and  upon  the  most  delicate  confusion 
between  the  objective  and  the  subjective.”  At  the 
close  of  the  narrative  itself,  a part  which  was  certainly 
his  own,  he  gently  indicates  where  the  pietistic 
ideal  fell  short  of  the  perfection  which  should  be 
man’s  goal.  The  Uncle  of  the  Saint — in  whom 
Schiller  saw  Goethe  himself — while  showing  her  his 
artistic  treasures,  impresses  on  her  the  necessity 
of  cultivating  other  sides  of  our  nature  besides  the 
religious  instinct,  in  the  interest  of  that  instinct 
itself. 

In  the  last  three  Books  of  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Lehrjahre  Goethe  “ dispensed  with  ” the 
Theatralische  Sendung,  but  it  is  specially  in  the 
concluding  two  that  we  are  sensible  of  the  new 
inspiration.  In  these  we  are  transported  into  another 
world  from  that  of  the  original  six.  It  is  a factitious, 
artificial  world,  ingeniously  composed,  but  without 
actuality.  The  leading  characters  who  appear  in  it 
have  little  connection  with  what  has  gone  before, 


680  THE  LEHRJAHRE 

and  most  of  the  persons  who  have  hitherto  played 
important  parts,  cease  to  appear — a necessity  of 
Goethe’s  new  conception  of  Wilhelm’s  destiny. 
And  the  new  characters  who  are  introduced  are 
differently  created  from  those  of  the  opening  Books. 
Melina,  Laertes,  Philina  and  the  others  are  ordinary 
beings  who  talk  and  act  spontaneously  from  the 
impulses  common  to  human  nature.  But  the 
personages  whose  acquaintance  we  now  make,  speak 
and  act  on  a system.  Each  of  them  only  embodies 
an  attitude  to  life,  and  they  act  and  talk  in  accordance 
with  it.  There  is  no  free,  natural  speech  among 
them  ; and  their  conversations  are  for  the  most 
part  edifying  discourses.  In  the  opening  Books 
events  and  incidents  happen  in  a natural  waj7,  but 
in  the  last  two  we  meet  with  so  many  strange  develop- 
ments that  we  feel  we  are  in  an  unreal  world. 

The  world  into  which  Wilhelm  now  enters  is, 
in  fact,  composed  of  a number  of  persons  who  have 
devoted  themselves  to  a special  mission.  It  is  a 
secret  brotherhood  which  has  for  its  object  the  gaining 
of  converts  to  their  own  ideal  of  life.  We  are  to 
understand  that  they  have  had  their  eyes  on  Wilhelm 
from  the  beginning,  and  that  certain  of  their  number 
have  been  specially  commissioned  to  keep  watch 
over  him.  Mysterious  incidents  in  his  past  career, 
such,  for  instance,  as  the  appearance  of  the  ghost 
in  Hamlet , had  been  introduced  to  indicate  that  his 
destiny  is  an  object  of  interest  to  agents  unknown 
to  himself. 1 Such  a machinery  seems  highly  artificial 
to  modern  readers,  but,  when  Goethe  wrote,  there 
was  a widespread  interest  in  secret  bodies  of  the 
kind.  During  his  first  years  in  Weimar  there  was 
a rage  for  freemasonry,  and  Goethe  himself,  the 
Duke,  and  many  of  the  courtiers  were  initiated. 
A liking  for  mystification,  as  we  know,  was  almost 
a passion  with  Goethe,  and  it  had  an  injurious 
influence  on  more  than  one  of  his  most  important 

1 These  incidents  were  introduced  in  the  rehandling  of  the 
Theatralische  Sendung. 


THE  SECRET  SOCIETY  681 

productions.  To  the  surprising  occurrences  in  the 
last  two  Books  Schiller  objected  that  there  was  too 
much  play  of  fancy  in  them  for  such  a serious  book 
as  Meister,  and  Goethe  replied  that  the  fault  lay 
in  his  inmost  nature  and  that  he  took  delight  in 
“ veiling  his  existence,  his  actions,  and  his  writings 
from  the  eyes  of  the  world.” 

The  leading  members  of  the  Society  are  Lothario, 
the  Abbe,  and  Jarno.  Lothario  is  the  betrayer  of 
Aurelia,  and  is  represented  as  having  had  various 
other  amours,  but  he  more  than  any  other  of  the 
members  of  the  Society  embodies  for  Wilhelm  the 
ideal  of  human  perfection.  He  has  the  charming 
external  manners  of  the  order  to  which  he  belongs, 
and  he  combines  with  them  a cultivated  inwardness 
of  which  the  ordinary  noble  had  no  conception. 
The  Abbe,  who  had  more  than  once  crossed  Wilhelm’s 
path  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  career,  is  the  most 
reflective  member  of  the  Society,  and  his  talk  is 
of  education  and  of  the  part  played  by  chance 
and  destiny  in  the  development  of  the  individual. 
With  Jarno  we  are  already  acquainted ; it  was 
he  who,  as  an  agent  of  the  Society,  directed 
Wilhelm  to  the  reading  of  Shakespeare.  As  he  is 
depicted,  he  is  the  accomplished  man  of  the  world, 
with  no  interest,  as  he  tells  Wilhelm,  in  art  and 
science,  and  concerned  only  with  life.  In  close 
association  with  these  three  men  are  two  women, 
Therese  and  Natalie,  both  of  noble  rank.  Therese 
is  the  embodiment  of  the  practical  spirit ; her  one 
interest  is  business,  and  her  ideals  are  order  and 
economy.  She  has  a natural  rectitude  of  mind  and 
all  her  activities  are  directed  to  a beneficent  end, 
but  she  is  devoid  of  religious  instincts  and  is  to  be 
regarded  as  the  antithesis  of  the  “Beautiful  Soul.” 
Natalie  combines  the  excellences  of  both  ; she  is 
deeply  spiritual,  but  she  has  also  an  objectivity 
of  interests  which  makes  her  life  a record  of  active 
well-doing  ; as  Lothario  is  the  ideal  of  the  fully 
developed  man,  so  Natalie  is  to  be  regarded  as  the 


682  THE  LEHRJAHRE 

fully  developed  woman.  There  is  a third  female 
character,  Lydia,  whom  we  may  take  as  a foil  to 
Therese  and  Natalie.  Though  not  of  noble  birth, 
she  has  been  one  of  Lothario’s  loves,  of  whom  he 
has  wearied  ; she  is  a creature  of  passion  and  impulse, 
and  is  only  introduced  because  she  plays  a part  in 
the  relations  between  Lothario  and  Therese. 

The  story  of  the  relations  of  these  various 
characters  is  so  complicated  that  it  is  not  easy  to 
summarize  it.  Wilhelm  sets  out  on  the  errand 
which  Aurelia  had  enjoined  on  him — to  deliver  to 
Lothario  the  account  of  her  life.  Filled  with 
indignation  at  Lothario’s  treatment  of  her,  he 
resolves  to  tell  him  frankly  what  he  thinks  of  his 
conduct,  but  now  as  ever  he  is  the  play  of  circum- 
stance. When  he  arrives  at  Lothario’s  castle, 
distracting  events  and  Lothario’s  personal  charm 
put  his  intended  monition  out  of  his  mind,  and  he 
finds  himself  on  excellent  terms  with  all  whom  he 
meets,  the  Abbe  and  Lydia  among  them.  L3Tdia, 
who  is  resident  in  the  castle  and  has  become  an 
embarrassment  to  Lothario,  is  dispatched  to  the 
home  of  Therese  under  the  protection  of  Wilhelm. 
Therese  and  Wilhelm  have  confidential  talks,  the 
outcome  of  which  is  that  they  conceive  a tender 
interest  in  each  other.  Wilhelm  then  sets  out  for 
the  town,  where  a startling  revelation  awaits  him. 
Barbara,  Aurelia’s  former  maid,  the  aged  crone  who 
had  waited  on  Mariane,  makes  a startling  communica- 
tion to  him  ; she  tells  him  that  F elix,  whom  he  had 
supposed  to  be  the  son  of  Lothario  and  Aurelia, 
is  the  son  of  himself  and  Mariane,  who  had  been 
faithful  to  him  till  her  pitiful  death.  This  discovery 
effects  a profound  change  in  his  outlook  on  life  ; 
now  a father,  as  he  puts  it,  he  has  become  a citizen 
with  the  responsibilities  of  a citizen. 

Wilhelm  returns  to  Lothario’s  castle,  and,  as  the 
Society  is  satisfied  that  he  has  completed  his 
apprenticeship,  he  is  formally  initiated  into  its 
membership.  He  is  conducted  into  a great  hall  in 


683 


THE  INITIATION 

the  castle,  furnished  with  various  symbolical  objects, 
and  with  attendant  mysteries  is  presented  by  the  Abbe 
with  his  Indenture,  a brief  document,  containing  the 
Society’s  rules  for  the  conduct  of  life.  But  a new 
interest  has  been  awakened  in  Wilhelm  ; as  he  is  now 
a father,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  find  a mother 
for  his  son.  Therese,  we  have  seen,  had  touched 
his  heart,  and,  accordingly,  he  sends  her  a letter 
in  which  he  offers  her  his  hand.  He  soon  finds 
that  he  has  been  over-hasty  in  his  action.  Lothario 
dispatches  him  with  a communication  to  his  sister, 
and  Wilhelm  has  a vague  feeling  that  this  sister  is 
no  other  than  the  fair  Amazon,  who  had  shown  such 
a tender  interest  in  him  when  he  was  wounded  and 
whose  image  had  haunted  him  ever  since.  He  finds 
that  Natalie  is  indeed  the  fair  Amazon,  and  a 
brief  intercourse  with  her  effaces  his  thoughts  of 
Therese.  To  add  to  his  embarrassment,  while  he  is 
still  with  Natalie,  there  comes  a letter  from  Therese 
in  which  she  accepts  his  offer  of  marriage.  But  he 
is  happily  extricated  from  his  awkward  situation. 
Therese  had  been  previously  engaged  to  Lothario, 
but  their  marriage  had  been  prevented  by  the 
discovery  of  an  insurmountable  obstacle.  Sub- 
sequently it  is  found  that  this  obstacle  was 
a fiction,  and  in  the  end  Lothario  wins  Therese, 
and  Wilhelm  Natalie.  While  still  with  Natalie, 
Wilhelm  has  an  experience  that  makes  a profound 
impression  on  him.  The  house  where  Natalie  resided 
had  been  built  by  the  Uncle  who  appears  in  the 
narrative  of  the  Beautiful  Soul,  and  he  had  fashioned 
it  within  and  without  so  as  to  give  expression  to 
his  views  on  life  and  art.  In  the  mansion  was  a 
chamber,  designated  the  Hall  of  the  Past,  in  which 
every  object  was  meant  to  symbolize  the  significance 
and  glory  of  life.  Into  this  chamber  Natalie  conducts 
Wilhelm,  and  the  sights  he  sees  there  uplift  him 
into  wrapt  contemplation.  Here,  he  says,  life  and 
ort  dispel  all  thoughts  of  death  and  the  grave,  and 
such,  we  are  to  infer,  was  the  Uncle’s  intention. 


684 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 


The  most  prominent  object  in  the  Hall  was  a marble 
statue  of  the  builder  with  a roll  in  his  hand  on  which 
were  inscribed  the  words : Gedenke  zu  leben — the 

sum  of  Goethe’s  own  philosophy. 

As  Mignon  and  the  Harper  are  brought  before 
us  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  novel,  we  are  led  to  expect 
that  they  have  had  strange  histories,  and  we  are 
not  disappointed.  So  painful  is  that  of  Mignon 
and  so  repulsive  that  of  the  Harper  that  they  strike 
us  as  alien  to  Goethe’s  genius.  Mignon  is  entrusted 
to  Natalie  who,  by  her  sympathetic  treatment  of 
her,  tames  her  passionate  and  wayward  nature,  and 
imbues  her  with  her  own  religious  sentiments. 
Mignon  dies  suddenly  from  heart  disease,  and  her 
obsequies  are  celebrated  according  to  the  ceremonial 
of  the  Society,  which  is  elaborately  described. 
Her  body  is  embalmed,  robed  in  white,  her  favourite 
colour,  and  the  coffin  is  placed  in  the  Hall  of  the 
Past  which  is  adorned  in  such  a manner  as  to  suggest 
cheerful  thoughts.  In  the  presence  of  the  company 
the  last  rites  are  celebrated  by  two  invisible  choirs 
and  four  boys,  dressed  in  azure  with  silver,  who 
interchange  responses,  the  burden  of  which  is  that 
life  must  not  be  forgotten  in  the  presence  of  death  ; 
and  the  Abbe  speaks  a few  words  regarding  the 
mystery  of  Mignon’s  life  and  its  beautiful  close. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony  four  youths, 
dressed  like  the  boys,  chant  the  song  so  well-known 
from  Carlyle’s  translation.  “ Well  is  the  treasure 
laid  up  ; the  fair  image  of  the  Past  ! Here  sleeps 
it  in  marble,  undecaying  ; in  your  heart,  too,  it 
lives,  it  works.  Travel,  travel  back  into  life ! 
Take  along  with  you  this  Holy  Earnestness  ; for 
earnestness  alone  makes  life  eternity.” 

The  mystery  of  Mignon  and  the  Harper  is  now 
revealed.  There  had  just  joined  the  company  an 
Italian  nobleman,  designated  the  Marchese,  an  old 
friend  of  the  Uncle,  whose  tastes  he  had  shared. 
He  recognizes,  by  a mark  on  her  body,  that  Mignon 
had  been  his  niece,  and  he  produces  a document 


685 


ITS  CONCLUSION 

which  relates  the  story  of  the  family.  From  this 
story  it  appeared  that  Mignon  was  the  child  of  an 
incestuous  union  on  the  part  of  the  Marchese’s 
brother,  and  that  the  Harper  was  the  brother,  and 
therefore  the  father  of  Mignon.  The  Marchese 
departs,  and  shortly  afterwards  the  Harper  appears 
at  the  castle.  Under  the  care  of  the  Physician  he 
had  seemingly  recovered  his  sanity.  It  turns  out, 
however,  that  the  recovery  is  only  apparent.  One 
day  a false  alarm  is  raised  that  Felix  has  innocently 
poisoned  himself  by  drinking  a vial  of  opium  which 
stood  in  the  room  occupied  by  the  Harper,  or  Augustin 
as  we  should  now  call  him.  Augustin,  who  had 
surreptitiously  read  his  own  history  in  the  manuscript 
of  the  Marchese,  is  filled  with  horror,  and  his  former 
hallucination  that  his  being  was  accursed  returning, 
he  makes  an  attempt  to  cut  his  throat.  The  wound 
is  not  mortal,  and  he  patiently  submits  to  have 
it  bandaged,  but  during  the  night  he  tears  off  the 
bandage,  and  is  found  dead  in  the  morning.  The 
story  now  closes  with  the  cheerful  prospect  of  the 
marriage  of  three  couples,  Lothario  and  Therese, 
Jarno  and  Lydia,  and  Wilhelm  and  Natalie.1  His 
apprenticeship  completed,  now  a father,  and  the 
prospective  husband  of  a woman  who  realizes  all 
his  ideals,  Wilhelm  is  convinced  that  he  is  happy 
beyond  his  deserts,  and  he  agrees  with  the  words 
of  Natalie’s  madcap  brother  Friedrich : “ Thou 

resemblest  Saul  the  son  of  Kish,  who  went  out  to 
seek  his  father’s  asses,  and  found  a kingdom.” 

The  foregoing  summary  sufficiently  shows  that 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre  is  not  a work  of  art,  in 
which  the  parts  are  organically  connected  and  rightly 
proportioned  in  view  of  a finished  whole.  As 
Schiller  pointed  out,  the  book  wants  a centre ; 
we  read  on  and  have  no  sense  of  an  underlying 
unity  ; it  is  not  even  clearly  borne  in  upon  us  in 

1 As  Friedrich,  the  brother  of  Lothario  and  Natalie,  marries  Philina, 
there  are  thus  three  marriages  of  commoners  with  noble  persons — a fact 
to  which  Schiller  took  objection. 


686  THE  LEHRJAHRE 

what  Wilhelm’s  apprenticeship  consists.  All  through 
the  book  we  feel  that,  in  writing  it,  Goethe  was 
alternately  influenced  by  three  motives,  of  which 
now  one  and  now  the  other  prevails.  He  is  so 
filled  with  his  own  memories  that  an  autobiographic 
impulse  sometimes  masters  him,  and  in  yielding 
to  it  the  sense  of  proportion  and  relevancy  leaves 
him.  Thus  we  have  the  successive  chapters  in 
which  Wilhelm  discourses  to  Mariane  on  his  boyish 
interest  in  the  puppet-show — a divagation  for  which 
Goethe  himself  seems  to  ask  pardon  from  his  readers. 
In  Wilhelm’s  disquisitions  on  Hamlet,  so  interesting 
in  themselves,  we  have  a similar  forgetfulness  of 
artistic  considerations  ; they  are  hardly  dramatically 
fitting  in  the  mouth  of  a youth  who  has  just  made 
acquaintance  with  Shakespeare,  and  they  distract 
the  reader  from  what  he  is  given  to  understand 
is  the  primary  intention  of  the  book.  At  other 
times  Goethe’s  didactic  tendency,  which  grew  upon 
him  after  the  Italian  journey,  leads  him  to  forget 
art ; he  makes  even  Philina  utter  aphorisms,  and 
Barbara  express  herself  in  a manner  strangefy  out 
of  keeping  with  her  character  and  position.  On 
the  other  hand,  in  the  early  chapters,  it  is  the  creative 
instinct  of  the  artist  that  prevails  with  him  so  that 
he  fashions  the  various  figures  as  observation  and 
imagination  directly  suggest.  Goethe  was  apt  to 
talk  of  his  greater  works  with  an  air  of  solemn 
litystery,  and  of  Meister  he  said  that  it  “ was  one 
of  his  most  enigmatic  ” works,  and  that  he  himself 
did  not  possess  the  key.  By  the  clashing  and 
intermixture  of  motives  he  certainly  bewilders  a 
reader  who  expects  to  find  a leading  conception 
developed  with  logical  sequence  and  symmetry  of 
parts. 

The  most  glaring  fault  of  Meister,  however,  is 
the  disharmony  between  the  two  worlds  in  which 
Wilhelm  is  made  to  move — the  world  of  the  actors, 
and  the  world  of  the  Secret  Societju  In  the  former, 
as  has  been  remarked,  things  happen  naturally, 


ITS  ARTISTIC  FAULTS  687 

and  the  persons  who  appear  in  it  are  real  human 
beings  ; in  the  latter,  all  is  fantastic  and  chimerical, 
and  belongs  to  a different  order  of  creation.  For 
the  modern  reader,  it  is  generally  agreed,  even  in 
Germany,  that  the  Secret  Society  acting  as  an 
earthly  Providence,  the  Central  Tower  in  Lothario’s 
Castle,  the  Hall  of  the  Past,  the  obsequies  of  Mignon 
are  mechanical  inventions,  void  of  reality.  And  the 
astonishing  events  that  are  made  to  happen,  in 
order  to  explain  the  relations  of  the  different 
characters,  are  so  fanciful  and  far-fetched  that  they 
deepen  the  sense  of  unreality.  Regarding  the  work 
as  a whole,  and  recalling  that  in  Die  Wahlverwandt- 
schaften  we  find  similar  shortcomings,  we  are  disposed 
to  agree  with  the  judgment  of  Emerson,  that  Goethe, 
the  great  lawgiver  of  art,  is  not  himself  an  artist. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  all  the  characters  in  the 
Lehrjahre  who  have  most  reality  appear  in  the 
Theatralische  Sendung  with  the  same  traits  and 
idiosyncrasies.  Wilhelm  is  the  same  susceptible 
being  ; Philina,  Mignon,  and  the  Harper  are  assigned 
the  same  parts,  and  act  them  in  the  same  fashion. 
They  are,  therefore,  the  creations  of  Goethe  while 
his  imagination  was  still  plastic,  before  he  began 
systematically  to  theorize  about  art,  and  therefore 
before  his  reflective  tendency  began  to  conflict  with 
the  spontaneous  play  of  his  creative  powers.  In 
view  of  the  altered  conception  of  the  later  work, 
we  might  have  expected  that  Wilhelm  would  have 
been  assigned  a character  more  in  keeping  with 
his  higher  destiny.  But  it  was  an  irresistible  impulse 
of  Goethe  to  make  his  heroes  weaklings ; we  have 
the  long  succession  of  Weislingen  in  Gotz,  Werther, 
Tasso,  Wilhelm  Meister,  and  Eduard  in  Die  Wahlver- 
wandtschaften,  all  men  more  or  less  the  slaves  of 
their  emotions.  In  this  impulse  we  may  see  his 
almost  morbid  preoccupation  with  that  side  of 
his  nature  by  which,  as  he  himself  frequently  said, 
he  was  in  danger  of  making  shipwreck  of  his  life. 
In  making  Wilhelm  the  characterless  figure  he  is, 


688 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 


however,  Goethe  seriously  marred  the  interest  of 
the  tale.  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt  called  him  “ an 
insignificant  and  senseless  creature,”  and  he  has 
the  general  opinion  with  him.1  In  both  of  the 
worlds  in  which  he  moves — the  world  of  the  actors 
and  the  world  of  the  nobility — he  appears  equally 
as  a nonentity,  and  his  conduct  with  relation  to 
Therese  and  Natalie  renders  him  ridiculous.  It 
may  even  be  a question,  whether  one  made  of  such 
stuff  was  capable  of  developing  into  the  self-poised 
man  Goethe  meant  to  make  him.  Pliilina,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  by  common  consent  one  of  Goethe’s 
successful  creations.  As  he  represents  her,  she  is 
a non-moral  creature,  in  whom  kindly  or  mis- 
chievous instincts  are  indifferently  at  the  prompting 
of  the  moment.  Pleasure  is  her  only  object,  and 
she  seeks  it  with  all  the  arts  with  which  nature  has 
endowed  her,  and  with  no  rational  regard  to  any 
consequences.  We  neither  like  nor  dislike  her,  and 
we  follow  her  play  as  that  of  a creature  outside  the 
sphere  of  ordinary  mortals. 

Mignon  and  the  Harper  are  among  the  best  known 
of  Goethe’s  creations,  and  the  figure  of  Mignon 
especially  has  continued  to  fascinate  the  world. 
Yet,  in  regard  to  both,  the  criticism  first  made  by 
Schiller  has  its  grounds  from  the  point  of  view  of 
art.  They  fill  so  large  a space  in  the  book,  and  Goethe 
expends  so  much  pains  on  their  delineation,  that 
they  assume  a proportion  which  considerations  of 
a symmetrical  whole  should  not  have  assigned  to 
them.  We  may  attribute  to  Goethe’s  interest  in 
what  he  called  “ problematical  natures  ” the  curious 
care  which  he  devotes  to  the  portrait  of  Mignon. 
She  is  as  much  a pathological  as  an  artistic  study  ; 
and  Schiller  animadverted  on  what  he  called  “ the 
repulsive  heterogeneity  ” of  her  nature,  though  he 
admits  that  she  becomes  more  interesting  and 
attractive  towards  her  end.  Owing  to  her  cruel 

1 Carlyle  calls  Wilhelm  a “ milksop.”  Goethe’s  own  opinion  of  Wilhelm 
varied.  See  above,  p.  667- 


MIGNON  AND  THE  HARPER  689 


fate,  she  lost  the  healthy  instincts  of  childhood ; 
and  as  she  develops  under  the  kind  sympathy  of 
Wilhelm,  her  heart  is  passionately  stirred  by  three 
emotions — her  almost  canine  devotion  to  him,  her 
longing  for  the  southern  land  of  which  she  retains 
a vague  memory,  and  her  religious  feeling  which, 
in  her  unhappiest  time,  leads  her  to  attend  mass 
every  morning.  It  is  her  songs  rather  than  the 
traits  of  her  character  that  have  clothed  her  with 
the  halo  that  surrounds  her — those  songs  which 
express  the  soul  of  her  being  and  are  at  the  same 
time  among  the  things  of  Goethe  which  have  made 
the  most  general  appeal.  The  Harper  is  a purely 
pathological  study  and  not,  like  Mignon,  an  attractive 
one.  His  character  and  history  are  alike  repellent, 
and  form  no  integral  part  of  the  book.  The  story 
of  his  fate,  as  told  in  the  Marchese’s  narrative,  can 
only  be  regarded  as  an  excrescence,  which  explains 
his  hallucinations,  but  which  the  structure  of  the 
novel  as  a whole  should  have  excluded.  It  was 
doubtless  from  some  hidden  motive  that  Goethe 
chose  to  tell  the  repulsive  story,  and  it  was  in  keeping 
with  the  views  he  held  when  he  wrote  it  that  the 
Harper’s  horrible  fate  is  ascribed  to  a canon  of  the 
Church.  As  with  Mignon,  the  Harper’s  songs — 
the  lines  beginning  Wer  nie  sein  Brot  mit  Thranen 
ass  and  Wer  sick  der  EinsamJceit  ergiebt — expressing 
with  incomparable  power  and  pathos  the  anguish 
of  a soul  in  the  grasp  of  a malign  fate,  have  made 
him  one  of  the  vivid  figures  among  the  creations 
of  modern  art. 

Despite  its  definite  title,  the  general  aim  and 
burden  of  the  book  have  been  variously  interpreted 
from  the  day  of  its  appearance,  and  Goethe  himself 
has  expressed  inconsistent  opinions  on  the  subject. 
At  one  time  he  said  that  Mignon  is  to  be  regarded 
as  the  central  theme ; at  another,  that  what  is 
to  be  looked  for  in  the  story  is  the  presentation  of 
“ a rich,  manifold  life  . . . without  any  express 
tendency  ” ; and,  again,  that  its  main  object  was 
von.  ii.  u 


690 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 

to  show  the  results  of  a false  tendency  as  illustrated 
by  Wilhelm’s  mistaken  preoccupation  with  the 
theatre — a theme  which  always  deeply  interested 
Goethe,  who  during  many  years  of  his  life  had 
mistakenly  conceived  that  nature  had  intended  him 
for  a painter.  When  he  entitled  the  book  Wilhelm’s 
Lehrjahre,  we  naturally  infer  that  his  primary 
intention  was  to  show  how  his  hero  developed  under 
the  various  influences  to  which  he  was  to  be  subjected. 
But  the  book  has  so  little  unity,  there  are  so  many 
cross  currents  in  it,  so  many  inconsistent  motives, 
that  we  have  no  distinct  impression  of  a pervading 
purpose.  If  anywhere,  it  is  in  the  later  Books,  those 
added  to  the  Theatralische  Sendung,  that  we  have 
to  look  for  a leading  motive ; and  in  these  Books 
we  have,  at  least,  a dominant  theme.  The  subject 
which,  preoccupies  the  Secret  Society  is  the  education 
of  the  individual,  of  whom  Wilhelm  is  the  type, 
with  the  object  of  developing  his  whole  nature 
harmoniously  and  thus  preparing  him  to  perform 
his  full  measure  of  service  to  the  society  in  which 
he  finds  himself.  The  essential  condition  of  his 
successful  development  is  that  he  should  have  a 
definite  aim,  and  an  aim  consistent  with  the  powers 
that  nature  has  given  him.  While  he  has  this 
definite  aim,  however,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should 
continuously  seek  to  multiply  his  interests,  in  order 
that  no  side  of  his  nature  may  become  torpid. 
Only  by  action  combined  with  reflection  can  his 
goal  be  eventually  attained.  It  is  noteworthy  that, 
in  the  educational  scheme  of  the  Society,  the  influence 
of  nature,  to  which  Wordsworth  attached  para- 
mount importance  in  his  own  mental  and  moral 
growth,  has  no  place.  Art  takes  the  place  of  nature  ; 
at  every  turn  Willi  elm  is  brought  into  contact  with 
works  of  art,  by  the  sight  of  which  he  is  lifted  out 
of  himself.  Religion  is  not  omitted  in  the  general 
scheme,  but  it  has  its  place  only  as  one  among  several 
agencies  necessary  to  the  development  of  feelings 
natural  to  man.  To  evoke  all  the  potentialities  of 


CRITICAL  ESTIMATE  691 

the  individual  is  thus  the  aim  of  the  Society,  and 
its  ideal  is  in  such  complete  accordance  with  Goethe’s 
own,  at  the  period  when  he  wrote  the  book,  that  we 
are  justified  in  concluding  that  to  put  it  before  the 
world  was  the  main  obj  ect  he  had  in  his  mind. 

From  its  first  appearance  the  book  has  failed 
to  find  wide  acceptance  either  in  Germany  or  else- 
where. In  Goethe’s  own  immediate  circle  it  was 
coldly  received ; Herder,  Wieland,  and  Frau  von 
Stein  were  repelled  by  it,  and  Fritz  von  Stolberg, 
Goethe’s  enthusiastic  ally  in  the  Werther  days, 
burned  it.  Only  three  friends,  Schiller, 1 Korner  and 
Wilhelm  von  Humboldt,  admired  and  appreciated 
it  with  a fullness  of  understanding  that  gave  its 
author  pleasure.  It  was  enthusiastically  applauded 
by  the  youthful  writers  of  the  Romantic  school, 
which  came  to  birth  at  the  very  time  when  it  was 
written.  Friedrich  Schlegel,  their  leader,  gave  a 
glowing  notice  of  it,  in  which  he  said  that  the  French 
Revolution,  Fichte’s  Wissenschaftslehre,  and  Meister 
were  the  greatest  tendencies  of  the  age,  and 
subsequently  the  Romantics  paid  it  the  sincerest 
of  compliments  by  imitating  it  in  then  innumerable 
productions.  And  their  admiration  of  it  is  easily 
explicable  ; the  romantic  elements  in  the  book — 
such  as  the  characters  of  Mignon  and  the  Harper, 
and  the  obsequies  of  Mignon — appealed  to  the 
instincts  that  united  them  as  a fraternity. 

To  the  educated  German  public  in  general 
Meister  has  never  been  acceptable  ; “ it  is  and  ever 
will  be  strange  to  the  German  nation,”  wrote  one 
German  critic.  There  are,  we  are  told,  two  reasons 
for  this.  It  has  not  the  interest  of  an  ordinary 
work  of  fiction  ; its  hero  proves  characterless  and 
dull,  his  aims  without  reality,  and  his  continual 


1 Schiller’s  praise  was  enthusiastic.  “ I cannot,”  he  wrote  to  Goethe, 
“ describe  to  you  how  deeply  the  truth,  the  beautiful  vitality,  the  simple 
fullness  of  this  work  has  moved  me.  The  emotion  is,  indeed,  less  tranquil 
than  it  will  become  when  I shall  have  thoroughly  mastered  the  book,  and 
that  will  then  be  an  important  spiritual  crisis  for  me.” 


692 


THE  LEHRJAHRE 


sermonizing  a weariness.  The  other  reason  is  one 
that  has  banned  it  in  England  as  well  as  in  Germany. 
“ When  people  speak  of  Goethe’s  immorality,”  says 
another  German  critic,  “ they  point  to  Meister .” 
Both  in  Germany  and  in  other  countries  since 
Goethe’s  day  the  world  has  become  familiar  with 
works  of  fiction  compared  with  which  Meister  is 
a chaste  production.  It  can,  at  least,  be  said  of  it 
that  it  is  void  of  all  pruriency,  and  that  it  contains 
no  scene  or  passage  which  can  be  charged  with  making 
vice  alluring.  It  is  a certain  grossness,  indeed, 
rather  than  any  immoral  tendency  that  offends  the 
modern  reader — a grossness  which  was  no  offence 
even  in  the  highest  society  of  Goethe’s  time.  Still, 
it  is  true  that,  in  a conventional  sense,  Goethe  is 
immoral ; he  holds  up  Lothario,  who  has  been 
something  of  a Don  Juan  in  his  day,  as  the  embodi- 
ment of  his  ideal  of  human  perfection,  and  this 
is  quite  in  consistency  with  his  abiding  convictions. 
As  we  have  seen,  in  the  scheme  of  education  he 
assigns  to  the  Society  morality  and  religion  have 
the  same  place  as  poetry  and  art.  If  the  pla}^  of 
passion  does  not  interfere  with  the  harmonious 
development  of  man’s  powers,  Goethe  is  perfectly 
willing  to  allow  it,  and  in  the  well-known  lines  which 
he  sent  to  the  actor  Kruger,  accompanying  the  gift 
of  his  Iphigenie,  he  has  expressly  said  so. 

Alle  menschliche  Gebrechen 

Subnet  reine  Menschlicbkeit.1 

In  England  and  France  Meister  has  never  been 
generally  appreciated.  To  French  critics  its  in- 
artistic composition  has  always  been  a stumbling- 
block.  Writing  in  1830  Jules  Janin  called  it  “ un 

1 A sentence  in  Mr.  B.  Bosanquet’s  Suggestions  in  Ethics  (p.  99),  quoted 
from  Mr.  A.  C.  Bradley’s  Appearance  and  Reality,  briefly  expresses  Goethe’s 
attitude  to  morality  and  religion : “ Slake  the  moral  point  of  view  absolute, 
and  you  have  become  not  merely  irrational,  but  have  broken  with  every 
considerable  religion.”  The  chapter  in  Mr.  Bosanquet’s  book  (Reality  of 
Evil)  in  which  he  quotes  this  sentence  is  an  excellent  exposition  of  Goethe’s 
point  of  view 


CONFLICTING  JUDGMENTS  693 

confus  assemblage  d’aventures  triviales,  de  personages 
ignobles,  de  mysticisme  sans  intelligence  et  sans 
frein  ” ; Doudan  found  it  “ excessivement  decousu 
et  chimerique  ” ; and  Merimee,  who  was  favourably 
disposed  to  Goethe,  described  it  as  an  “ etrange 
livre  ou  les  plus  belles  choses  du  monde  alternent 
avec  les  enfantillages  les  plus  ridicules.”  In  England 
opinion  has  been  adverse  no  less  on  sesthetic  than 
on  ethical  grounds ; and  De  Quincey’s  notorious 
review  (1825),  in  which  he  has  pilloried  himself, 
probably  found  many  sympathetic  readers.  To 
Wordsworth  the  book  was  so  distasteful  that  he 
could  not  read  beyond  the  opening  chapters.  In 
spite  of  the  laudatory  preface  to  his  translation, 
even  Carlyle  found  it  a sore  trial  to  his  Puritan 
instincts.  “ When  I read  of  players  and  libidinous 
actresses  and  their  sorry  pasteboard  apparatus  for 
beautifying  and  enlivening  the  ‘ Moral  World,’  ” 
he  wrote  to  a correspondent,  “ I render  it  into 
grammatical  English,  with  a feeling  mild  and 
charitable  as  that  of  a starving  hysena.” 

Yet,  in  spite  of  its  imperfections  as  a work  of 
art,  in  spite  of  the  grossness  of  many  of  its  scenes 
and  the  faded  sentimentalism  of  others,  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Lehrjahre  is  among  the  great  books  of 
European  literature.  It  is  the  exemplar  of  a type 
of  novel  which  has  had  many  successors  in  all 
countries — a form  of  fiction  in  which  the  writer 
makes  his  hero  the  bearer  of  the  message  which  he 
wishes  to  convey  to  the  world.  It  contains  things 
in  prose  and  verse  which,  regarded  simply  as 
literature,  are  in  Goethe’s  happiest  manner.  It  is 
in  the  richness  of  its  content,  however,  that  its 
greatness  consists  ; in  hardly  any  other  book  can 
there  be  found  such  a wealth  of  thought  on  so  many 
subjects  that  are  of  living  and  permanent  interest 
to  men.  But  its  supreme  distinction  is  that  it  is 
a deliberate  attempt  to  place  before  the  world  a new 
conception  of  the  conduct  of  life  which,  if  carried 
into  practice,  would  result  in  a higher  development 


694  WILHELM  MEISTER 

of  the  individual  than  was  possible  under  commonly 
accepted  ideals.  And  it  is  in  this  aim  of  the 
book  that  those  who  have  set  most  store  by  it 
have  found  its  chief  value.  “ The  large,  liberal 
view  of  human  life  in  Wilhelm  Meister ,”  Matthew 
Arnold  wrote,  “ how  novel  it  was  to  the  Englishman 
in  those  days  ! and  it  was  salutary,  too,  and  educative 
for  him,  doubtless,  as  well  as  novel.”  In  the  same 
strain  of  appreciation  the  idealist  Emerson  wrote 
of  the  “ immoral  ” book.  “ I suppose  no  book  of 
this  century  can  compare  with  it  in  its  delicious 
sweetness,  so  new,  so  provocatory  to  the  mind, 
gratifying  it  with  so  many  and  so  solid  thoughts, 
just  insight  into  life,  manners  and  characters  ; so 
many  good  hints  for  the  conduct  of  life,  so  many 
unexpected  glimpses  into  a higher  sphere,  and  never 
a trace  of  rhetoric  or  dullness.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 


WILHELM  MEISTERS  WANDERJAHRE 

Goethe  originally  intended  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehr - 
jahre  to  be  a complete  work  in  itself,  bnt  a hint 
from  Schiller  that  he  should  follow  it  up  by  a second 
part  found  a ready  response,  and  he  acted  on  the 
suggestion.  The  title,  “ Apprenticeship,”  indeed, 
seemed  to  imply  that  there  should  be  a sequel ; the 
apprentice  had  to  complete  his  initiation  into  his 
craft  by  years  of  wandering  from  one  town  to  another. 
In  view  of  his  intention,  therefore,  Goethe  let  fall 
hints  in  the  Lehrjahre  that  his  readers  were  to 
expect  a sequel.  But  it  was  not  till  1807,  two  years 
after  Schiller’s  death,  that  he  addressed  himself 
to  his  task,  and  he  did  so,  in  Carlyle’s  phrase,  “ in 
rather  an  unexpected  sort.”  He  began  not  with 
a resumption  of  Wilhelm’s  fortunes,  but  by  dictating 
a number  of  tales,  old  and  new,  which  had  little 
apparent  relation  to  his  hero.  All  these  tales 
subsequently  appeared  in  the  final  form  which  the 
Wander  jahre  assumed.  The  origin  of  Die  neue 
Melusine  dates  from  the  Sesenheim  days ; Die 
pilgernde  Thorin,  a translation  of  a French  tale, 
from  1789 ; Sanct  Joseph  der  Zweite  from  1799. 
The  tales  written  expressly  for  the  W ander jahre  were 
Der  Mann  von  fiinfzig  Jaliren  (1807),  Das  nussbraune 
Mcidchen  (1810),  and  Wer  ist  der  Verrdter  (1820). 1 
Loosely  connected  with  Wilhelm’s  travels,  these 

1 Some  of  these  tales  had  been  previously  published.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  had  originally  been  intended 
to  make  one  of  them. 


695 


696  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

tales  make  up  the  greater  part  of  the  first  volume 
of  the  Wander jahre,  published  in  1821. 1 From  the 
manner  in  which  the  volume  was  put  together,  it 
will  appear  that  the  Wanderjahre  did  not  promise 
to  be  better  constructed  than  the  Lehrjahre. 

Goethe’s  further  procedure  with  the  Wanderjahre 
is  one  of  the  curiosities  of  literary  history.  It  was 
not  till  1827  that,  prompted  by  the  desire  to  add 
the  completed  work  to  his  last  edition  of  his  writings, 
he  seriously  set  himself  to  produce  the  second  volume 
to  which  he  was  pledged.  Eckermann  has  recorded 
how  the  work  was  carried  out.  The  printed  volume 
was  copied  by  Goethe’s  secretary,  and  leaves  of 
blue  paper  inserted  in  the  manuscript  which  were 
to  contain  the  matter  that  was  to  be  added.  Goethe’s 
intention  was  to  make  two  volumes  of  the  completed 
work,  but,  as  his  secretary  wrote  widely,  he  was 
under  the  impression,  when  the  manuscript  was 
sent  to  the  printer,  that  it  would  fill  three  volumes 
instead  of  two.  The  printer  found,  however,  that 
the  manuscript  was  not  sufficient  to  fill  even  two 
volumes.  This  was  embarrassing,  as  Goethe  was 
not  in  the  mood  to  produce  the  necessary  new 
material.  He  solved  the  problem  by  doing  what 
one  of  his  latest  German  editors  sa}Ts  that  no  one 
but  Goethe  would  have  dared  to  do.  He  handed 
to  Eckermann  two  packets,  containing  papers  on 
miscellaneous  subjects,  and  instructed  him  to  make 
a selection  from  these,  and,  though  they  had  no 
relation  to  the  book  as  a whole,  to  insert  in  the 
manuscript  as  many  of  them  as  were  necessary 
to  complete  the  two  volumes.  When  the  book 
appeared,  adds  Eckermami,  “ no  one  knew  what 
to  make  of  it,”  and  it  has  continued  to  bewilder 
readers  ever  since.2 

Goethe  described  the  Wanderjahre  as  “ a complex 

1 It  was  this  volume  which  Carlyle  translated. 

2 With  reference  to  the  manner  in  which  the  Wanderjahre  was  composed 
Lewes  says  : “ This  is  an  impertinence  to  the  public  ; all  the  more  remark- 
able as  coming  from  a writer  who  thought  so  much  of  art."  The  Life  of 
Goethe  (1875),  p.  539. 


697 


ITS  STRUCTURE 

of  the  necessary  and  the  accidental,”  and  accident, 
at  least,  plays  a large  part  in  it.  As  he  had  used 
the  W est-dstlicher  Divan  as  a vehicle  for  his  personal 
experience,  so  he  seems  to  have  regarded  the  Wander- 
jahre  as  a convenient  repository  for  whatever  whims, 
fancies,  imaginings,  and  reflections  passed  through 
his  mind  while  he  had  it  in  hand.  A kind  of  mis- 
cellany rather  than  an  artistically  composed  work, 
it  has  no  consistent  development,  no  continuous 
thread  of  interest  on  which  the  reader  can  lay  hold. 
Goethe  was  not  even  accurately  acquainted  with 
the  material  he  embodied  in  his  work.  There  are 
disconcerting  gaps,  contradictions,  repetitions,  over- 
sights, sufficiently  explained  by  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  put  together.  In  preparing  the  final 
form  of  the  book  he  made  use  of  the  printed  first 
volume,  but  subjected  it  to  drastic  rehandling. 
He  “ took  it  to  pieces,”  he  says,  retained  what  he 
thought  appropriate  to  its  new  setting,  transposed 
entire  passages,  and  added  much  fresh  material  which 
extended  its  original  scope  and  gave  a new  character 
to  the  book  as  a whole.  The  fresh  material  consisted 
of  additional  tales  and,  above  all,  of  the  sociological 
portions  which  reveal  the  widened  scope  of  Goethe’s 
interests  during  the  years  the  Wander jahre  occupied 
his  thoughts. 

Though  Wilhelm  is  the  nominal  hero  of  the  book, 
he  is  only  one  among  a multitude  of  figures,  and  not 
the  one  who  plays  the  most  conspicuous  part.  In 
the  successive  scenes  through  which  he  is  conducted 
he  is  effaced  by  the  persons  whom  he  meets,  and 
we  lose  sight  of  him  in  the  long  disquisitions  to 
which  he  is  a passive  listener.  As  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  Lehrjahre,  he  engages  in  no  independent 
course  of  action,  but  is  at  the  bidding  of  the 
mysterious  powers  who  choose  their  own  way  of 
inculcating  their  ideals.  Yet,  if  we  are  to  find  any 
guiding  thread  through  the  tangled  skein,  it  is  by 
following  the  successive  experiences  through  which 
he  is  led  to  his  goal. 


698  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

As  he  is  introduced  to  us  in  the  opening  chapters 
we  find  him  travelling  in  a mountainous  country, 
accompanied  by  his  son  Felix,  now  a well-grown 
boy.  His  travels,  it  appears,  have  been  imposed 
on  him  by  Natalie,  and  they  are  to  be  pursued 
under  conditions  which  he  eventually  found  burden- 
some ; he  is  to  stop  no  more  than  three  days  at 
any  one  place ; and  when  he  removes,  it  must 
be  to  the  distance  of  a league.  His  first  experience 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  charmingly  related  in  the 
whole  book.  Among  the  mountains  he  comes  upon 
a delightful  valley,  where  a small  community  lead 
an  idyllic  life  of  pleasant  toil.  The  most  important 
person  of  the  community  is  a carpenter  who  resides 
with  his  family  in  the  chapel  of  a ruined  monastery, 
originally  dedicated  to  St.  Joseph.  Introduced  to 
the  household,  Wilhelm  is  astonished  to  find  the 
walls  of  the  apartment  adorned  with  paintings 
illustrative  of  the  life  of  St.  Joseph.  In  due  course, 
the  carpenter,  who  also  acts  as  steward  of  the  estate 
on  which  the  monastery  stood,  relates  the  story 
of  his  life,  which  is  entitled  “ St.  Joseph  the  Second.” 
Reared  amid  the  sacred  associations  of  the  place 
and  following  the  same  trade  as  the  Saint,  he  had 
come  to  regard  himself  as  a mystical  person,  a 
Saint  Joseph  the  Second,  and  his  avocations  as  a 
dedicated  service.  Of  all  the  tales  in  the  Wander- 
jahre  this  is  the  one  that  bears  most  directly  on 
its  principal  theme — the  necessity  of  special  handi- 
crafts for  the  welfare  of  the  individual  and  for  the 
good  of  society  at  large. 

While  still  with  the  carpenter,  Wilhelm  hears 
of  a solitary  being  who  spends  his  days  in  geologizing 
among  the  mountains,  and  from  the  description 
of  him  he  knows  (we  are  not  told  how)  that  the 
solitary  is  his  old  friend  Jarno,  who,  however,  has 
chosen  to  call  himself  Montan,  as  a name  appropriate 
to  his  present  occupation.  Wilhelm  and  Felix  set 
out  in  search  of  him,  but,  before  he  is  found,  Felix, 
while  exploring  a cave,  discovers  a little  box,  about 


GENERAL  OUTLINE  699 

which  we  are  told  no  more  than  that  it  is  richly 
enamelled  and  of  antique  appearance,  but  wThich, 
the  reader  infers,  contains  important  secrets.  When, 
at  length,  they  encounter  Jarno,  Wilhelm  finds  that 
he  has  not  only  changed  his  name,  but  is  also  changed 
in  his  being.  He  has  ceased  to  be  the  man  of  the 
world  who  figures  in  the  Lehrjahre  ; he  has  a definite 
aim,  a definite  mission.  His  talk  is  no  longer  of  the 
generalities  of  the  Indenture  which  admitted  Wilhelm 
to  the  Secret  Society  of  the  Tower.  When  Wilhelm, 
recalling  the  former  instructions  of  the  Society, 
ventures  to  speak  of  the  advantages  of  general 
culture,  Jarno  tells  him  that  now  is  the  time  for 
specialization  and  limitation.  “ In  all  things,”  he 
exclaims,  “ to  serve  from  the  lowest  station  upwards 
is  necessary.  To  restrict  yourself  to  one  trade 
is  best.”  And  his  parting  advice  to  Wilhelm  is 
that  he  should  take  Felix  to  the  Pedagogic  Province 
where  he  will  receive  an  education  appropriate  to 
his  age  and  to  the  times. 

Leaving  Jarno,  father  and  son  proceed  to  a 
castle,  the  denizens  of  which  are  an  Uncle  (he 
bears  no  name)  and  two  nieces,  Hersilie  and 
Juliette.  They  are  hospitably  received,  and  on  the 
first  evening,  Wilhelm  is  sent  to  bed  by  Hersilie 
with  a manuscript  which  he  is  enjoined  to  read 
before  going  to  sleep.  It  contains  a tale,  entitled 
Die  pilgernde  Tinorin,  appropriated  by  Goethe 
from  the  French,  which  calls  for  no  notice  here, 
as  it  has  no  connection  with  the  novel,  though  it 
conveniently  ekes  out  some  dozen  of  its  pages. 
During  his  stay  in  the  castle  Wilhelm  hears  counsels 
which  further  remind  us  that  we  are  in  another 
world  from  that  of  the  Lehrjahre.  He  is 
taken  into  a hall  hung  with  pictures,  which  consist 
only  of  portraits,  as  he  is  informed  that  in  the 
Uncle’s  opinion  fictitious  subjects  lead  the  imagina- 
tion dangerously  astray.  “ From  the  useful  through 
the  true  to  the  beautiful,”  he  is  further  told,  is  the 
Uncle’s  life-maxim,  and  the  maxim  may  be  taken 


700  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

as  expressing  the  main  burden  of  the  Wanderjahre. 
The  Uncle’s  principal  occupation  in  life  is  the  cultiva- 
tion of  his  estate,  which  he  conducts  on  principles  of 
his  own,  summed  up  in  the  words  “ possession  and 
common  good.”  As  these  words  are  interpreted, 
they  perfectly  express  Goethe’s  own  persistent 
purpose  in  the  application  of  all  his  powers.  “ Man,” 
it  is  explained,  “ ought  to  keep  firm  hold  of  every 
possession  and  make  himself  the  centre  from  which 
the  common  good  may  flow.  He  must  be  an  egoist 
in  order  not  to  become  an  egoist.” 

Before  he  leaves  the  Uncle’s  castle,  a second 
manuscript  is  put  in  Wilhelm’s  hands.  It  contains 
another  tale,  Who  is  the  Traitor  ? which  has  likewise 
no  relation  to  the  development  of  the  main  theme, 
but  serves  the  purpose  of  adding  two  chapters  to 
the  book.  When  this  is  finished,  we  accompany 
Wilhelm  to  the  presence  of  a mysterious  being 
whom  we  are  to  regard  as  the  central  figure  around 
whom  all  the  persons  and  events  brought  before 
us  rotate  like  the  planets  round  the  sun.  Her 
name  is  Makarie  (the  Blissful),  and,  in  his  conception 
of  the  attributes  he  assigns  to  her,  Goethe  evidently 
had  before  him  the  ideas  of  Swedenborg,  whose 
writings  he  had  at  various  times  cursorily  examined. 
Her  pre-eminent  and  distinguishing  attribute  is  that 
her  being  is  subtly  fused  with  the  material  solar 
system,  and  she  is  thus  enabled  to  act  as  an  inter- 
mediary between  man  and  nature.  She  represents 
the  highest  good  attainable  by  man,  and  her  life 
is  spent  in  beneficently  guiding  the  destinies  of  all 
the  persons  who  come  within  her  sphere.  She  has 
two  ministers  who  execute  her  wishes ; Angela, 
a girl  whose  office  it  is  to  carry  out  her  practical 
schemes  of  benevolence,  and  an  astronomer  who 
devotes  himself  with  Makarie  to  the  daily  study  of 
the  heavens.  Makarie  receives  Wilhelm  as  an  old 
friend  with  whose  past  she  is  fully  acquainted.  In 
her  presence  he  is  conscious  that  she  possesses  a 
remarkable  faculty — the  faculty  of  discerning  the 


MAKARIE 


701 

innermost  nature  of  all  with  whom  she  comes  in 
contact.  Shortly  after  his  arrival  a manuscript  is 
read  aloud  to  him,  the  purport  of  which  he  sums 
up  to  the  satisfaction  of  those  present  in  these 
words : “ Great  thoughts  and  a pure  heart  are 

what  we  ought  to  pray  to  God  for.”  At  nightfall 
the  astronomer  conducts  Wilhelm  to  the  observatory 
attached  to  the  house,  where  they  hold  solemn 
discourse  on  the  relations  of  man  to  the  immensities 
of  nature,1  and  in  a dream  Wilhelm  sees  the  glorified 
image  of  Makarie,  whose  occult  attributes  are 
subsequently  expounded  to  him  by  Angela. 

Among  the  multitude  of  persons  in  whom  Makarie 
is  interested,  is  one  whom  she  expressly  charges 
Wilhelm  to  seek  out.  He  is  a brother  of  Hersilie 
and  Juliette,  Lenardo  by  name,  who  subsequently 
becomes  a prominent  figure  in  the  book.  Wilhelm 
finds  Lenardo,  who  straightway  relates  his  history 
under  the  heading  of  The  Nutbrown  Maid.2  Lenardo 
had  been  travelling  about  the  world  for  the  space 
of  three  years,  and  always  with  a load  on  his 
conscience.  Before  starting  on  his  travels  he  had 
given  a pledge  to  the  daughter  of  one  of  his  uncle’s 
tenant  farmers,  that  he  would  intervene  with  bis 
uncle  in  favour  of  her  father  who  was  threatened 
with  eviction  on  account  of  his  failure  to  pay  his 
rent.  Lenardo,  deterred  by  the  knowledge  of 
the  Uncle’s  exacting  nature,  imperfectly  fulfilled 
his  pledge,  and  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the 
feeling  that,  by  his  default,  he  had  been  the  occasion 
of  the  ruin  of  both  father  and  daughter.  Lenardo 
then  informs  Wilhelm  that  he  can  have  no  peace 
of  mind  till  he  has  discovered  the  present  circum- 
stances of  the  Nutbrown  Maid,  and  Wilhelm  under- 
takes to  find  her.  By  Lenardo’s  direction  he  calls 
on  a nameless  personage  in  a neighbouring  town 
who  may  assist  him  in  his  search.  This  proves  to 

1 Goethe  was  not  himself  specially  interested  in  astronomy : it  was 
too  remote  from  human  interests,  he  thought. 

2 She  is  also  designated  “ Nachodine  ” and  “ die  Schone-Gute.” 


702 


THE  WANDERJAHRE 


be  an  old  man  and  a sage,  who  gives  Wilhelm 
counsels  similar  to  those  which  he  had  heard  from 
Jarno.  The  mastery  of  some  handicraft  must 
precede  all  life,  action,  and  art,  and  this  mastery 
can  only  be  obtained  by  self-limitation.  “ To  know 
and  practise  one  thing  well  is  a higher  culture  than 
half-mastery  in  a hundred  things.”  And  Wilhelm 
is  told  that  he  will  find  these  maxims  carried  into 
practice  in  the  Psedagogic  Province.1 

In  the  opening  chapter  of  the  second  Book  we 
follow  Wilhelm  and  Felix  into  the  Pedagogic  Province 
— the  part  of  the  Wanderjahre  best  knoAvn  to  English 
readers  from  Carlyle’s  translation  and  his  insistence 
on  its  spiritual  significance.  On  entering  the 
Province,  Wilhelm  sees  everywhere  the  evidences 
of  a diligent  community.  The  territory  was  partly 
mountainous  and  partly  flat ; on  the  mountains 
abundant  flocks  were  grazing,  and  crops  were 
being  reared  where  the  ground  permitted.  As  it 
was  the  time  of  autumn,  preparations  were  being 
made  for  the  coming  harvest.  Wilhelm  is  astonished 
to  see  that  this  work  is  being  carried  on  onfy  by 
boys,  attired  in  costumes  of  varying  cut  and  colour. 
The  two  travellers,  father  and  son,  now  encounter 
an  Overseer  who  undertakes  to  conduct  Wilhelm 
to  the  persons  who  preside  over  the  Province — 
a mysterious  body  designated  the  Three.  As  they 
pass  on,  Wilhelm’s  attention  is  arrested  by  certain 
gestures  made  by  the  boys  in  the  presence  of  the 
Overseer.  The  youngest  crossed  their  arms  on  their 
breasts  and  looked  up  to  the  sky  ; those  older  held 
their  hands  behind  their  backs  and  cast  their  eyes 
on  the  ground ; and  the  oldest  of  all  held  their  arms 
by  their  sides,  turned  their  heads  to  the  right,  and 
formed  themselves  into  a line.  On  Wilhelm’s  asking 
for  an  explanation  of  these  gestures,  the  Overseer 
tells  him  that  it  lies  with  the  higher  authorities  to 
reveal  the  mysteries  of  the  Province.  As  thej^ 

1 Wilhelm  leaves  the  box  found  by  Felix  with  the  old  man,  who  is  a 
oollector  of  antiquities. 


THE  PEDAGOGIC  PROVINCE  703 

proceed  further,  Wilhelm  is  struck  by  the  increasing 
vocal  melodies  from  the  boys  at  work  in  the  fields, 
and  he  is  told  that  song  forms  the  first  part  in  the 
educational  programme  of  the  community,  because 
both  moral  and  intellectual  discipline  is  most  directly 
and  effectively  given  to  the  young  by  song.  Since 
Pelix  has  been  brought  to  the  Province  for  instruc- 
tion, he  is  left  behind  with  one  of  the  groups  of 
boys  (those  engaged  in  learning  agriculture),  and 
Wilhelm  and  the  Overseer,  continuing  their  j ourney, 
at  length  come  to  a valley  surrounded  by  lofty  walls 
and  accessible  only  through  a gateway. 

Entering  by  this  gateway,  Wilhelm  finds  himself 
in  a delightful  spot,  thickly  grown  with  trees  and 
bushes  of  every  description,  with  stately  buildings 
only  visible  through  the  foliage.  The  Chief  of  the 
Province,  as  it  happened,  was  absent,  but  the 
Overseer  conducts  William  to  the  Three,  who  receive 
him  cordially  as  having  entrusted  his  son  to  their 
care,  and  request  him  to  ask  what  questions  he 
pleases  regarding  what  he  has  observed  since  entering 
the  Province.  Wilhelm’s  first  inquiry  is  regarding 
the  significance  of  the  gestures  which  he  had  seen  the 
boys  make  in  the  presence  of  the  Overseer,  and 
the  explanation  which  the  Three  give  to  him  Carlyle 
regarded  as  the  transcendant  proof  of  Goethe’s 
spiritual  insight.  Children,  Wilhelm  is  told,  bring 
many  gifts  with  them  into  the  world,  but  there 
is  one  faculty  which  they  do  not  have  by  nature, 
and  which,  therefore,  must  be  instilled  into  them  ; 
it  is  the  feeling  of  reverence  for  what  is  worthy  of 
reverence.  The  gestures  of  the  boys,  the  Three 
explain,  are  the  external  manifestations  of  this 
feeling  which  finds  its  expression  in  three  different 
ways.  By  the  crossing  of  the  arms  on  the  breast 
and  the  lifting  of  the  eyes  is  symbolized  reverence 
for  what  is  above  ourselves ; by  the  holding  of 
the  hands  behind  the  back  and  the  casting  down  of 
the  eyes,  reverence  for  what  is  beneath  us  ; and  by 
the  third  of  the  gestures — the  arms  by  the  side  and 


704 


THE  WANDERJAHRE 


the  head  turned  to  the  right — reverence  for  our 
equals.  These  three  forms  of  reverence  distinguish 
three  types  of  religion  which  have  found  place  among 
men ; the  Ethnic,  or  religion  of  the  Heathen ; 
the  Philosophical ; and  the  Christian,  which,  as 
the  highest  type  of  all,  “ having  once  appeared, 
cannot  again  vanish.” 

After  these  explanations  Wilhelm  is  conducted 
by  the  Three  into  a gallery,  the  wall  of  which  is 
decorated  with  scenes  from  the  Old  Testament. 
Here,  he  is  told,  the  neophytes  are  initiated  into 
the  Ethnic  or  first  religion,  and  it  is  explained  to 
him  that  the  illustrations  are  taken  from  Jewish 
history  for  three  reasons : because  the  Jewish 

religion  has  endured,  because  it  possesses  incompar- 
able sacred  books,  and  because  it  has  never  embodied 
God  in  material  form.  In  a second  gallery  the 
scenes  depicted  are  from  the  New  Testament  history, 
and  Wilhelm  is  struck  by  the  fact  that  the  series 
concludes  with  the  representation  of  the  Last 
Supper.  The  explanation  of  this  omission  of  the 
last  scenes  in  the  Gospel  history  is  in  accordance 
with  Goethe’s  own  permanent  attitude  of  mind. 
“We  hold  it  a damnable  audacity,”  Wilhelm  is 
told  by  the  Three,  “ to  bring  forth  that  torturing 
Cross,  and  the  Holy  One  who  suffers  on  it,  or  to 
expose  them  to  the  light  of  the  sun,  which  hid  its 
face  when  a reckless  world  forced  such  a sight  on 
it ; to  take  these  mysterious  secrets,  in  which  the 
divine  depth  of  sorrow  lies  hid,  and  play  with  them, 
fondle  them,  trick  them  out,  and  rest  not  till  the 
most  reverend  of  all  solemnities  appears  vulgar 
and  paltry.”  1 Thus  far  Wilhelm  is  initiated  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  Community,  but  he  is  informed 
that  there  is  a last  stage  of  initiation  for  which  he 
is  not  yet  ripe.  At  the  end  of  a year,  however, 
when  he  has  been  further  proved,  he  will  be  admitted, 
if  he  chooses,  to  the  Sanctuary  of  Sorrow,  where  the 
most  secret  mysteries  will  be  revealed  to  him. 

1 Carlyle’s  translation. 


705 


AN  INTERLUDE 

Meanwhile,  he  is  conducted  by  the  Overseer  to  the 
limit  of  the  Province,  whence  he  proceeds  on  his 
further  travels. 

The  narrative  of  Wilhelm’s  travels,  however, 
is  not  immediately  continued.  Goethe,  professing 
as  he  does  to  be  merely  the  editor  of  his  materials, 
announces  in  his  own  person  that  at  this  point  his 
readers  may  be  gratified  to  have  another  tale  as 
an  interlude.  Of  this  tale,  entitled  The  Man  of 
Fifty,  it  can  at  least  be  said  that  it  is  so  far  connected 
with  the  whole  that  its  personages  subsequently 
have  a place  in  the  book.  The  story  is  fantastic, 
and  a mere  indication  of  its  drift  will  show  why 
Goethe  chose  to  tell  it.  There  are  five  characters  : 
the  Major,  his  sister  the  Baroness,  and  his  niece 
Hilarie,  who  all  reside  together  ; Flavio  a lieutenant, 
the  Major’s  son,  and  a young  and  charming  widow. 
It  is  understood  that  Flavio  is  to  marry  Hilarie  ; 
but,  by  a strange  perversity,  he  falls  in  love  with 
the  widow,  and  Hilarie  falls  in  love  with  her  uncle 
the  Major.  The  widow  repels  Flavio’s  advances, 
but  is  strongly  attracted  by  the  Major,  and  so 
hopeless  is  the  situation  that  the  omniscient  and 
omnipotent  Makarie  intervenes  to  arrange  it— in 
what  way,  we  are  not  clearly  told.  We  see,  how- 
ever, what  interest  the  tale  would  have  for  Goethe. 
He,  also,  in  advanced  years,  had  been  an  object 
of  attraction  for  women  in  their  early  youth  ; and, 
as  the  Major,  flattered  by  the  admiration  of  Hilarie, 
betook  himself  to  cosmetics,  so  Goethe  had  danced 
before  Minna  Herzlieb  in  proof  of  his  youthfulness 
of  limb  and  spirit. 

The  narrative  of  Wilhelm’s  fortunes  is  now 
resumed.  He  has  found  the  Nutbrown  Maid,  and 
is  able  to  report  to  Lenardo  that  she  is  in  comfort- 
able circumstances,  but  adds  that,  on  no  account, 
is  he  at  present  to  go  in  search  of  her.1  This  task 
accomplished,  Wilhelm  sets  forth  on  another 
journey.  At  the  close  of  the  Lehrjahre  we  are 

1 Lenardo  subsequently  finds  her,  and  in  comfortable  circumstances. 

VOL.  II.  X 


706  THE  WANDEEJAHRE 

informed  that  he  has  the  intention  of  visiting  Mignon’ s 
home  on  Lake  Maggiore.  This  is  the  ostensible 
reason  for  his  undertaking  the  journey  now,  but 
Goethe’s  real  motive  for  bringing  him  to  the  Italian 
lakes  was  no  doubt  the  recollection  of  the  glorious 
days  he  spent  there  in  his  own  Italian  journey. 
And  nowhere  in  the  Wander jahre  are  there  such 
glowing  pages  as  those  in  which  this  episode  in  the 
hero’s  devious  wanderings  is  described.  In  crossing 
the  Alps  into  Italy,  Wilhelm  falls  in  with  an  artist 
who  is  there  for  a reason  that  curiously  illustrates 
the  loose  construction  of  the  book.  The  artist  had 
read  the  Lehrjahre,  and  had  become  so  interested 
in  Mignon  and  her  history  that  he  had  resolved  to 
visit  her  home  to  paint  certain  scenes  in  her  life. 
Joining  company,  Wilhelm  and  he  descend  to  the 
shores  of  the  lake  and  make  for  the  palace  of  the 
Marchese,  the  uncle  of  Mignon.  They  find  that  he 
has  not  yet  returned,  and  they  spend  some  joyous 
days  on  the  lake,  the  artist  busily  sketching  such 
scenes  as  specially  appealed  to  him.  But  Wilhelm 
has  been  led  to  expect  that  their  compam^  will  be 
increased,  and  one  day  they  come  upon  a splendid 
barge  in  which  they  find  Hilarie  and  the  young 
widow  who  figure  in  the  tale  of  The  Man  of  Fifty. 
Some  days  of  intoxicating  pleasure  follow — the  four 
equally  lost  in  their  enjoyment  of  the  glorious 
scenery  and  in  the  intimacy  of  their  intercourse. 
But  the  day  of  parting  comes,  sad  for  all  four,  but 
specially  for  the  artist.  Hilarie,  the  Widow,  and 
Wilhelm  are  all  initiates,  called  to  renuncia- 
tion ; not  so  the  artist,  who,  however,  through 
their  example  and  inspiration  joins  the  body  of 
Renunciants. 

Wilhelm,  as  we  saw,  was  to  return  to  the  Province 
at  the  end  of  a year  to  be  initiated  into  its  last 
mysteries  ; but,  in  point  of  fact,  several  years  elapse 
before  he  revisits  it.  On  this  occasion  he  is 
introduced  to  another  of  its  divisions — one  in  which 
the  Community  is  occupied  in  the  rearing  of  horses. 


RETURN  TO  THE  PROVINCE  707 

Here  he  comes  on  his  son  Felix,  who,  not  finding 
the  agricultural  region  in  which  he  had.  been  originally 
placed  congenial,  had,  in  accordance  with  the 
principles  of  the  Province,  been  permitted  to  make 
the  change.  In  the  description  of  the  conditions 
that  regulate  the  horse-rearing  region,  Goethe 
indulges  in  his  most  fanciful  vein.  Wilhelm  suggests 
to  the  Overseer,  who  again  accompanies  him,  that 
the  feeding  of  animals  does  not  seem  an  elevating 
occupation,  but  he  is  reassured.  The  youths  engaged 
in  this  business,  he  is  told,  have  excellent 
opportunities  of  acquiring  a knowledge  of  languages. 
They  come  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  so  do 
the  purchasers  of  horses.  It  is  necessary,  there- 
fore, that  buyers  and  sellers  should  be  acquainted 
with  each  other’s  tongues  and,  to  prevent  a Babel, 
it  is  a rule  that  speech  should  be  confined  to  a single 
language  during  each  month  of  the  year.  More- 
over, if  a youth  shows  a special  lildng  or  talent 
for  any  language,  he  is  afforded  facilities  for  mastering 
it.  But  not  only  has  the  community  the  opportunity 
of  acquiring  languages  ; provision  is  made  for  their 
training  in  the  arts — music,  instrumental  and  vocal, 
dancing,  architecture,  drawing,  sculpture  and  even 
poetry.  In  connection  with  the  cultivation  of 
poetry  the  Head  of  the  Province  made  a remark- 
able distinction : only  epic  poetry  was  taught,  the 
drama  was  ignored.  On  Wilhelm’s  asking  an 
explanation  of  the  omission,  he  is  told  that  the  stage 
implies  the  existence  of  an  idle  multitude,  and  that 
there  are  no  idlers  in  the  Province  ; and,  further, 
that  from  its  very  nature  the  drama  has  an  injurious 
influence  on  all  the  other  arts.  Wilhelm,  whose 
old  enthusiasm  for  the  drama  we  know,  took  this 
exposition  home  to  himself ; and  Goethe  in  his  own 
person  drops  a humorous  protest  against  a view  of 
the  drama  which  was  a condemnation  of  so  much 
of  his  own  life  work. 

Wilhelm  is  now  conveyed  to  another  district  of 
the  Province,  where  a mining  community  prosecute 


708  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

their  labours  among  lofty  mountains.  At  this 
moment  they  are  holding  high  festival,  and,  to  his 
astonishment,  Wilhelm  finds  among  their  chiefs  his 
old  friend  Jarno,  attired  in  stately  robes.  The  talk 
that  ensues  between  them  is,  as  usual,  purely  didactic, 
and,  in  the  course  of  it,  Goethe  takes  the  opportunity 
(as  he  does  in  the  Second  Part  of  Faust)  of  intro- 
ducing his  theory  of  the  formation  of  the  earth’s 
crust,  and  of  affirming  the  absurdity  of  the  Vulcanists. 
They  discourse  also  of  deeper  things — of  the  meaning 
of  life,  of  the  mystery  of  nature ; but  Jarno  is  as 
cryptic  as  ever  in  the  expression  of  his  opinion. 
“ What  does  it  all  come  to  ? ” exclaims  Wilhelm 
at  last ; and  Jarno  delivers  himself  of  a maxim  which 
may  be  taken  as  condensing  the  moral  of  the  whole 
book : “ Thought  and  action,  action  and  thought,” 
he  says,  “ that  is  the  sum  of  all  wisdom.”  In  the 
concluding  chapters  of  the  second  Book  we  are 
again  diverted  from  Wilhelm’s  travels,  and  our 
attention  is  directed  to  his  son  Felix,  now  grown  to 
manhood.  Felix  is  in  love  with  Hersilie,  the  sister 
of  Lenardo,  and  a mysterious  bond  between  them 
is  the  enamelled  box  which  Felix  found  in  the 
cave.  The  box  comes  into  the  hands  of  Hersilie, 
and  Felix  eventually  discovers  the  key,  which 
breaks,  however,  when  he  attempts  to  open  the 
lid,  so  that  the  secrets  are  not  revealed,  and  are 
left  by  Goethe  to  the  ingenuity  of  his  commentators, 
who  have  differed  much  in  their  conjectures. 

From  the  nature  of  its  contents,  and  specially 
as  coming  from  the  hand  of  Goethe,  the  third  and 
concluding  part  is  the  most  remarkable  section  of 
the  book.  So  heterogeneous  are  its  materials,  how- 
ever, and  so  inconsequent  in  arrangement,  that  a 
connected  summary  of  it  is  hardly  possible.  As  in 
the  two  first  Books,  tales  are  introduced  for  the 
simple  reason  already  noted — to  extend  the  volume 
to  its  necessary  length.  We  have  the  tale  of  Die 
neue  Melusine,  written,  as  we  have  seen,  in  Goethe’s 
early  youth,  and  here  filling  nearly  a whole  chapter. 


THE  THIRD  BOOK 


709 


A barber  (not  a very  appropriate  narrator)  tells 
how  in  his  wanderings  he  encounters  a fairy  who 
had  assumed  human  proportions,  and  mingled  freely 
with  ordinary  mortals.  She  presents  him  with  a 
casket  of  which  he  is  charged  to  take  the  utmost 
care,  and  for  some  time  they  travel  together,  she, 
however,  occasionally  making  mysterious  disappear- 
ances. At  length  a misunderstanding  arises  between 
them,  and  she  explains  to  him  the  nature  of  her 
being.  She  has  come  from  fairyland  with  the  express 
object  of  marrying  an  ordinary  mortal  in  order  to 
increase  the  stature  of  the  fairies  who,  to  their 
detriment,  have  been  gradually  diminishing  in  size. 
On  account  of  his  conduct,  however,  the  marriage 
cannot  take  place,  but,  as  he  is  passionately  devoted 
to  her,  she  invites  him  to  accompany  her  to  fairy- 
land. He  consents,  and,  by  the  influence  of  a gold 
ring  placed  on  his  finger,  his  stature  is  diminished 
to  fairy  size,  and  he  and  she  are  transported  to  the 
fairy  Court,  of  which  her  father  is  king.  But  he 
finds  himself  so  uncomfortable  in  his  strange 
surroundings,  that  he  takes  the  earliest  opportunity 
of  returning  to  the  ordinary  world ; an  end  which 
he  achieves  by  breaking  the  ring  on  his  finger.  As 
we  know,  the  tale  dates  from  Goethe’s  youth,  and 
it  is  told  in  his  happiest  manner.  To  most  English 
readers  the  phantasy  will  probabfy  appear  a pretty 
nursery  story,  though  German  commentators  have 
discovered  in  it  stores  of  hidden  wisdom.  The  other 
tale,  Die  gefahrliche  Wette  (The  Dangerous  Wager), 
is  a piece  of  buffoonery  that  brings  home  to  us  the 
defiant  humour  with  which  Goethe  put  the  book 
together.  A band  of  students  are  congregated  at 
an  inn,  when  a stately  equipage  arrives  with  an 
old  gentleman  of  distinguished  appearance  and  a 
very  conspicuous  nose.  One  of  the  students  takes 
a wager  that  he  will  pull  the  gentleman’s  nose, 
and  he  wins  the  wager  by  giving  himself  out  as  a 
barber  and  by  finding  the  opportunity  of  putting 
his  art  in  practice. 


710  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

The  most  prominent  character  in  the  concluding 
chapters  is  Lenardo,  whom  we  find  engaged  in  a 
great  enterprise.  He  has  formed  a “ Bond,”  an 
offshoot  of  the  Province,  of  which  Wilhelm  and  other 
persons  who  figure  in  the  Lehrjahre  are  members, 
for  by  some  means  not  particularly  described,  but 
mainly  (we  are  given  to  understand)  through  the 
agency  of  Makarie,  even  Philina,  Lydia  and 
Friedrich  have  become  serious  persons,  with  a 
definite  purpose  in  life.  One  object  of  the  Bond 
is  to  transport  a band  of  artisans  to  America  where 
they  are  to  form  an  independent  colony.  We  are 
taken  to  Switzerland,  where  we  are  introduced 
among  the  mountains  to  communities  of  spinners 
and  weavers,  whose  industries  are  described  with 
a minuteness  that  reminds  us  of  Goethe’s  lifelong 
interest  in  the  mechanical  arts.  These  communities 
are  remarkable  as  being  based  on  purely  socialistic 
principles,  and  they  work  out  then’  ideals  inde- 
pendently of  a State.  There  comes  a momentous 
day  when  it  has  to  be  decided  who  are  to  proceed 
to  America  and  who  are  to  remain  at  home,  and 
Lenardo  delivers  an  address  on  emigration.  The 
ideas  he  proclaims  are  in  singular  contrast  to  what 
is  laid  down  in  the  Lehrjahre  as  the  highest  wisdom. 
There  Lothario  had  spoken  the  famous  words : 
“ Here  or  nowhere  is  America.”  But  Lenardo’s 
oration  is  a panegyric  on  wandering  as  necessary 
to  the  well-being  of  the  individual  and  of  society. 
For  artisan,  artist,  soldier,  a vagrant  life  is  indispens- 
able to  his  highest  development.  It  was  a common 
saying,  “ Where  it  goes  well  with  me,  there  is  my 
Fatherland.  ” “ But,  ’ ’ says  Lenardo,  ‘ ‘ a better  saying 
is,  ‘ Where  I am  of  use,  there  is  my  Fatherland.’  ” 
“ Seek  everywhere  to  be  of  use,”  he  adds,  “ everywhere 
to  be  at  home.”  A paramount  didy  on  the  members 
of  the  Bond,  he  concludes,  is  to  practise  and 
forward  a morality  without  pedantry  and  austerity, 
in  accordance  with  the  one  reverence  that  is  born 
of  the  three.  And  as  words  of  solace  on  the  eve 


THE  BOND  711 

of  the  departure  of  those  members  of  the  Bond 
who  have  chosen  to  emigrate,  he  recites  the  well- 
known  lines  beginning  : — 

Bleibe  nicht  am  Boden  heften, 

Frisch  gewagt  und  frisch  hinaus  ! 

Kopf  und  Arm  mit  heitern  Kraften, 

UeberaU  sind  sie  zu  Haus. 

Lenardo  has  expounded  the  economical  principles 
of  the  Bond,  and,  oddly  enough,  it  is  given  to 
Friedrich,  who  in  the  Lehrjahre  is  represented  as  a 
kind  of  scapegrace,  to  explain  its  ideas  on  religion 
and  morality.  It  is  in  conversation  with  Wilhelm, 
who  must  have  been  impressed  by  the  expositor, 
that  Friedrich  makes  his  communications.  Religion 
and  morality,  he  says,  are  the  links  that  hold  men 
together  in  society.  To  enable  men  to  accept  the 
inevitable  is  the  object  of  all  religions,  and  each 
must  discover  for  himself  what  religion  is  most 
effective  for  this  end.  For  their  part,  the  religion 
which  the  members  of  the  Bond  had  chosen 
was  the  Christian,  because  by  inculcating  faith, 
love  and  hope  it  disposed  them  to  a mild  resignation. 
It  might  be  called  pedantry,  but  they  excluded 
Jews  from  their  community,  for  the  reason  that 
they  denied  the  origin  and  source  of  the  Christian 
religion.  As  for  morality,  if  they  were  asked  what  was 
the  sum  of  it  all,  they  would  say  : Mdssigung  im 

WillJciirlichen,  Emsigkeit  im  Nothwendigen. 

In  their  own  moral  discipline  they  laid  great 
emphasis  on  the  proper  use  of  time,  “ the  greatest 
gift  of  God  and  nature,”  and  to  ensure  that  the 
passing  of  the  hours  should  not  be  unobserved  there 
were  express  mechanical  arrangements  to  remind 
them  of  it.1  They  attached  great  importance  to 
the  family  circle,  and  duties  were  assigned  to  fathers 
and  mothers,  which,  in  the  case  of  the  Bond 

1 Goethe  is  insistent  on  the  value  of  time.  One  of  the  most  familiar 
quotations  from  him  is  the  couplet : — 

Mein  Erbteil  wie  herrlioh,  weit  und  breit ! 

Die  Zeit  ist  mein  Besitz,  mein  Acker  ist  die  Zeit. 


712  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

were  the  more  easily  performed,  as  each  member 
of  it  was  expected  to  stand  on  his  own  feet. 
If  any  one  made  himself  disagreeable  to  his  neigh- 
bours, he  was  removed  for  a time  till  he  had  better 
thoughts.  In  every  circle  there  were  three  directors 
of  police,  who  were  changed  every  eight  hours, 
just  as  there  were  shifts  among  the  workmen. 
The  members  had  no  belief  in  majorities  arriving 
at  a right  conclusion  ; 1 in  the  case  of  the  world 
at  large  it  may  be  necessary  to  accept  the  decision 
of  the  majority,  but  the  Bond  believed  in  a higher 
principle.  As  for  the  ruling  authority  in  the 
community,  it  was  thought  necessary  that  it  should 
not  be  located  in  one  spot,  as  it  was  considered 
inexpedient  that  there  should  be  a centralized 
capital.2  Only  slight  punishments  were  inflicted 
on  misdemeanants ; to  those  who  had  passed  a 
certain  age  it  was  permissible  to  admonish  an  erring 
neighbour,  but  only  a chosen  few  among  the  eldest 
were  allowed  to  disapprove  or  chide  ; and  a special 
number  were  charged  with  assigning  penalties.  If 
any  member  of  the  Bond  accumulated  more 
wealth  than  was  thought  reasonable,  less  or  more 
of  it  was  taken  from  him  that  he  might  be  taught 
repentance.  Public-houses  and  libraries  were  dis- 
allowed, though  on  what  grounds  Friedrich  says 
that  he  would  rather  not  specify.  Finally, 
documents  dealing  with  problems  that  arise  in 
connection  with  the  Society  were  withheld  from 
circulation. 

Subject  to  these  regulations  and  animated  by 
these  ideals  a section  of  the  community,  of  their 
own  free  will,  proceed  to  America  under  the  conduct 
of  Lenardo.  Among  them  are  the  characters  with 
whom  we  have  become  most  familiar : Wilhelm, 
Friedrich,  Philina,  Lydia  and  others.  How  they 
fared  in  the  New  World,  Goethe  has  not  chosen  to 

1 Goethe’s  own  opinion. 

2 Goethe  did  not  think  it  desirable  that  Germany  should  have  one 
capital  city. — Eokermann,  Oct.  23, 1828. 


CONTRAST  WITH  THE  LEHRJAHRE  713 

tell  us.  Eacli  and  all  of  them,  at  least,  are  prepared 
for  all  contingencies,  since  each  is  master  of  some 
craft  or  profession  which  will  ensure  him  or  her  a 
livelihood  ; Philina  is  a skilled  dressmaker,  Lydia 
a skilled  seamstress,  and  Wilhelm  a trained  physician. 

From  the  foregoing  sketch  of  the  Wanderjahre 
it  will  be  seen  that  it  is,  in  Carlyle’s  phrase,  a sequel 
to  the  Lehrjahre,  “ in  rather  an  unexpected  sort.” 
The  characters,  new  and  old,  have  their  being  in 
quite  different  surroundings.  It  might  almost  seem 
as  if  the  book  were  expressly  intended  to  present 
a different  aspect  of  human  life  and  destiny  from 
that  which  is  shown  in  the  Lehrjahre.  Such  an 
intention,  indeed,  is  in  complete  accord  with  Goethe’s 
genius  and  its  development.  Every  book  he  wrote 
was  a response  to  the  immediate  influences  to  which 
he  happened  to  be  subject.  When  he  wrote  the 
Lehrjahre,  he  was  dominated  by  the  Greek  ideals 
in  which  he  and  Schiller  saw  the  true  goal  of 
humanity.  In  the  apprenticeship  through  which 
Wilhelm  is  disciplined  into  a complete  man,  art  is 
the  supreme  instructress.  Wholly  self-centred,  he 
is  concerned  only  with  his  own  self-culture,  and  his 
instructors  of  the  Secret  Society  impress  on  him  that 
such  should  be  man’s  object  if  he  is  to  do  the  best 
for  himself  and  the  world.  But  when,  in  the  decade 
1820-30,  Goethe  wrote  the  most  characteristic 
portions  of  the  Wanderjahre , there  were  new  influences 
around  him  to  which,  as  always,  his  nature  responded. 
He  had  seen  astonishing  things  since  Schiller’s 
death,  which  had  opened  his  eyes  to  a future  before 
humanity  which  was  of  the  nature  of  a revelation. 
He  had  seen  the  full  effects  of  the  French  Revolution 
in  dividing  the  aims  of  rulers  and  peoples,  and  he 
fully  realized  that  the  nations  had  now  before  them 
a destiny  previously  undreamt  of.  The  great 
problem  of  the  future,  it  was  brought  home  to  him, 
was  the  training  of  the  masses  for  the  part  they 
were  destined  to  play.  The  main  questions  to  be 
considered  lay  in  the  sphere  of  sociology,  education. 


714  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

religion  and  ethics,  and  these  are  the  themes  which 
receive  principal  attention.  That  Goethe  treated 
them  in  the  way  he  did,  disconnectedly  and  fancifully, 
is  in  accordance  with  his  consistent  attitude  towards 
all  the  problems  of  life.  He  was  too  conscious 
of  the  various  sides  of  every  problem,  too  keenly 
aAvare  of  his  own  susceptibility  to  immediate 
impressions,  to  identify  himself  with  any  dogmatic 
doctrine.  In  the  Wander jahre  he  makes  Lenardo 
say  expressly  that  the  ideas  he  expounds  are 
“ suggestions  ” and  not  dogmas.  Strange  medley 
as  it  is,  the  book  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  his 
most  characteristic  productions.  In  its  fragmentari- 
ness, its  mystifications,  its  sjmibolism,  its  caprice, 
we  see  the  play  of  tendencies  illustrated  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life. 

The  insistent  theme  of  the  Wander  jahre  is  the 
necessity  of  labour,  for  the  happiness  of  the  individual 
and  the  well-being  of  communities.  The  carpenter, 
designated  the  “ Second  Saint  Joseph,”  finds  the 
blessedness  of  life  in  the  exercise  of  his  craft.  In 
the  Uncle,  who  is  represented  as  assiduously 
cultivating  his  estate  in  his  own  interest  and  the 
interest  of  those  dependent  on  him,  we  have  the 
picture  of  one  who,  in  a larger  sphere,  similarly 
finds  the  fulfilment  of  his  life  in  strenuous  activity. 
Makarie  has  her  attendant  Angela,  whose  principal 
duty  is  the  education  of  the  young.  In  the 
Pedagogic  Province  practical  training  of  the  boys 
in  special  pursuits  is  given  the  first  place.  In  the 
concluding  Book  we  are  taken  to  the  spinning, 
weaving,  and  mining  communities,  who  pursue  their 
respective  crafts  in  the  spirit  of  artists  ; for  “ handi- 
crafts,” we  are  told,  “ are  strictly  arts.”  A remark- 
able note  of  the  whole  book,  indeed,  is  the  dignity 
which  Goethe  assigns  to  the  function  of  the  artisan. 
In  the  eyes  of  Plato  the  artisan  was  a despicable 
creature,  condemned  by  fate  to  an  ignoble  life  from 
which  there  was  no  escape.  In  the  Wander  jahre 
he  is  nature’s  nobleman,  in  the  presence  of  whose 


THEORY  OF  EDUCATION 


715 


activities  conventional  rank  and  social  position 
disappear.  All  the  characters,  whatever  has  been 
their  previous  place  in  society,  acquire  some  profession 
or  industry,  and  it  is  in  virtue  of  the  acquisition  that 
they  become  members  of  the  community.  In  this 
conception  of  the  ennobling  influence  of  labour 
we  are  far  away  from  the  Lehrjahre , where  the  line 
that  separates  noble  and  commoner  is  always 
sharply  drawn. 

The  scheme  of  education  presented  in  tY&Wandcr- 
jahre  is  in  equally  strong  contrast  to  that  of  the 
Lehrjahre.  In  the  latter,  only  the  culture  of  the 
individual  is  taken  into  account,  and  the  leading 
characters  are  absorbed  in  their  own  affairs.  In 
the  Wander jahre,  on  the  contrary,  the  education  of 
the  masses  is  made  the  prime  concern.  In  his 
handling  of  this  theme  Goethe,  it  is  evident,  was 
largely  prompted  by  Pestalozzi,  who,  indeed,  invoked 
him  to  use  his  genius  and  authority  in  forwarding 
the  higher  interests  of  the  multitude.  Pestalozzi 
was  the  first  to  conceive  and  proclaim  the  idea  of 
an  education  for  the  masses  as  distinct  from  that 
of  the  classes,  and  in  his  Psedagogic  Province  Goethe 
has  taken  up  the  idea,  for  the  youths  assembled 
there  are  represented  as  coming  from  every  social 
grade.  It  was  in  agricultural  occupations  amid  rural 
scenes  that  Pestalozzi  found  the  most  propitious 
conditions  for  evoking  the  best  instincts  of  the  young, 
and  such  are  the  conditions  which  Goethe  has 
imagined  for  his  Province.  It  was,  further,  the 
principle  of  Pestalozzi  that  the  main  object  of 
education  was  to  foster  the  spontaneous  develop- 
ment of  the  forces  of  nature.  So,  in  the  Province 
4 the  youths  are  permitted  to  choose  their  circle ; 
Felix,  in  deference  to  his  own  liking,  is  allowed  to 
remove  from  the  agricultural  to  the  horse-rearing 
community.  The  difference  of  discipline  to  which 
father  and  son  are  respectively  subjected,  it  may 
be  said,  forcibly  illustrates  the  contrast  between  the 
leading  ideas  of  the  Lehrjahre  and  the  W ander jahre. 


716  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

In  the  sociological  portions  of  the  Wanderjahre 
Goethe  pictures  an  organization  of  labour,  which 
in  its  motives  and  aims  is  opposed  to  his  personally 
expressed  convictions.  As  he  presents  his  different 
communities  of  craftsmen,  they  exist  apart  from 
each  other ; they  are  strictly  socialistic  in  their 
aims,  and  the  primary  consideration  of  the  individual 
is  the  well-being  of  the  community  to  which  he 
belongs.  But  in  a conversation  with  Eckermann 
(1830)  Goethe  expressed  very  different  views. 
Eckermann  had  turned  the  conversation  on  Saint 
Simonism  and  remarked  that  its  principle  was 
that  the  individual  should  work  for  the  happiness 
of  the  whole  as  a necessary  condition  of  his  own. 
To  this  remark  Goethe  replied  with  an  exposition 
which  deserves  quotation  as  the  definitive  expression 
of  his  maturest  thoughts  on  the  relations  of  the 
individual  and  society. 

“ I think  that  each  ought  to  begin  with  himself 
and  make  his  own  fortune  first,  from  which  the 
happiness  of  the  whole  will  at  last  unquestionably 
follow.  Altogether,  this  theory  appears  to  me 
perfectly  impracticable.  It  is  in  opposition  to  all 
nature,  all  experience,  and  all  the  course  of  events 
for  thousands  of  years.  If  each  one  only  does  his 
duty  as  an  individual,  and  if  each  works  rightly 
in  his  own  vocation,  it  will  be  well  with  the  whole. 
Never,  in  my  vocation  as  an  author,  have  I asked 
what  the  multitude  would  have,  and  how  I can  be 
of  service  to  the  whole ; but  I have  always 
endeavoured  to  improve  m37 self  and  sharpen  my 
own  faculties,  to  raise  the  standard  of  my  own 
personality,  and  then  to  express  only  that  which  I 
had  recognized  as  good  and  true.  This  has  certainly, 
I will  not  deny,  worked  usefully  in  a large  sphere  ; 
still,  it  was  not  my  aim,  but  the  necessary  result, 
which  is  found  in  all  the  effects  of  natural  powers.”  1 

The  place  which  Goethe  assigns  to  religion  and 
morality  in  the  Pedagogic  Province  and  in  the 

1 Oxenford’s  translation. — Eckermann,  Oct.  20,  1830, 


RELIGION  AND  MORALITY  717 

Bond  is  in  accordance  with  his  own  abiding 
conviction.  They  are  the  links,  as  Friedrich  told 
Wilhelm,  which  hold  men  together  in  society.  He 
was  equally  in  accord  with  himself  in  making  the 
Christian  religion  the  accepted  faith  of  the  different 
Communities.  But  it  was  the  Christian  religion 
as  he  understood  it ; in  Goethe’s  conception  the 
two  supreme  contributions  which  Christianity  had 
made  to  humanity  were  reverence  for  what  is  worthy 
of  it,  and  the  renunciation  of  motives  and  desires 
that  thwarted  what  is  noblest  in  human  nature. 
It  is  implied  in  this  view  of  renunciation  that  historic 
Christianity  has  banned  actions  and  aspirations 
which  are  not  only  legitimate,  but  which  in  reality 
forward  the  attainment  of  a perfected  humanity. 
He  lays  down  no  rules  for  the  regulation  of  conduct ; 
he  leaves  it  to  the  individual  to  consult  himself 
regarding  the  manner  and  measure  in  which  he  is 
to  deal  with  the  endowment  nature  has  given  him. 
It  is  understood,  however,  that  all  who  become 
initiates  should  make  it  their  highest  aim  to  cultivate 
reverence  and  renunciation  as  the  attitudes  of  mind 
from  which  life  derives  its  richest  blessing.  As 
animated  and  inspired  by  these  feelings,  the  members 
both  of  the  Province  and  of  the  Bond  formed  a 
kind  of  Church  of  which  Makarie,  as  the  inter- 
mediary between  man  and  nature,  was  the  visibly 
divine  head. 

A recent  German  biographer  of  Goethe  called 
the  Wander jahre  one  of  his  “ dead  works,”  and  the 
fact  cannot  surprise  us.  In  his  royal  way  Goethe 
compares  the  book  to  life  itself  with  all  its 
confusions  ; 1 but  in  the  transference  of  life  to  a 
book  we  look  for  a presentation  of  it,  which  will 
give  the  impression,  not  of  confusion,  but  of  an 
ordered  whole.  The  Wander  jahre  lacks  almost  every 
quality  requisite  to  interest  the  majority  of  readers. 
Its  heterogeneous  materials,  not  in  themselves 
popularly  attractive,  are  not  presented  in  a fashion 

1 He  also  calls  it  a “ vielumfassendes  Drama.” 


718  THE  WANDERJAHRE 

that  beguiles  the  reader’s  attention.  There  is  not 
a character  in  the  book  who  enlists  his  sympathies, 
for  none  of  them  are  real  human  beings.  All  are 
mere  automata  embodjfing  certain  theories  which 
their  creator  has  chosen  to  assign  to  them.  More- 
over, as  German  critics  unanimously  tell  us,  the 
book  is,  except  in  certain  passages,  written  in  a 
style  which  bears  all  the  traces  of  failing  emotional 
and  intellectual  powers.  To  readers  who  study  it 
seriously  to  attain  an  understanding  of  its  real  import 
a difficulty  presents  itself.  How  far  is  Goethe  serious 
in  his  description  of  the  Utopias  of  the  Province 
and  the  Bond  ? Certain  of  the  characteristics  which 
we  find  in  these  Utopias,  are  opposed  to  opinions 
which  he  expressed  subsequent  to  the  completion 
of  the  Wanderjahre.  Frequent^,  also,  sheer 
phantasy  is  so  blended  with  what  appears  to  be 
meant  seriously  that  wre  have  a feeling  of  mystifica- 
tion. The  gestures  of  the  boys  in  the  Province, 
symbolizing  the  three  reverences,  for  example, 
suggest  a play  of  fancy  which  disturbs  the  reader 
with  a sense  of  unreality.  Yet,  when  all  is  said 
in  depreciation  of  the  most  capricious  of  Goethe’s 
productions,  it  contains  such  a revelation  of  himself 
and  so  much  that  is  of  permanent  interest  and 
value  that  it  will  continue  to  reward  every  reader 
who  is  content  to  take  it  for  what  Goethe  meant 
it  to  be— a symbolic  representation  of  life  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 


FAUST — FIRST  PART 

It  is  by  the  tragedy  of  Faust  that  Goethe  has  his 
place  among  the  great  poets  of  the  world.  Impressive 
as  a manifestation  of  intellectual  and  imaginative 
power,  the  play  has  the  further  interest  of  being  a 
unique  biographical  document.  Conceived  and  begun 
in  Goethe’s  early  youth,  it  received  his  final  touches 
a few  months  before  his  death  in  his  eighty-third 
year.  The  manner  in  which  it  was  brought  to 
birth  is,  therefore,  another  illustration  of  Goethe’s 
inability  to  produce  a prolonged  whole  by  persistent, 
continuous  effort.  Most  of  his  lengthier  productions, 
whether  of  his  early  or  of  his  later  years,  required 
intermittent  effort,  extending  over  long  periods,  to 
bring  them  eventually  to  a conclusion.  But  Faust 
is  the  most  striking  illustration  of  this  peculiarity 
of  Goethe’s  mind.  Between  its  inception  and  its 
completion  there  intervened  some  sixty  years,  during 
which,  either  of  his  own  prompting  or  through  some 
external  incentive,  he  made  the  successive  additions 
which  resulted  in  the  completed  whole  as  we  have 
it.  A great  poem,  composed  in  such  a manner 
and  dealing  with  the  deepest  problems  that  interest 
man,  must  necessarily  be  a revelation  of  the  soul 
and  mind  of  its  author  in  their  most  characteristic 
workings.  In  following  the  growth  of  Faust  from 
its  beginning  to  its  end,  therefore,  we  are  tracing 
not  only  the  genesis  of  a work  of  art,  but  also  the 
mental  and  moral  development  of  the  artist. 

In  speaking  of  the  Urfaust  something  was  already 

719 


720  FAUST — FIRST  PART 

said  1 of  Goethe’s  original  interest  in  the  legendary 
Faust,  who,  in  his  impatience  of  human  limitations, 
sold  himself  to  the  devil  in  order  to  overleap  them. 
The  poet  tells  us  that  in  the  story  of  Faust,  he  saw 
a similitude  to  his  own  experience  of  life  as  it  had 
been  conditioned  by  his  own  nature  and  by  the 
character  of  his  time.  Others  besides  Goethe  were 
similarly  attracted  by  the  fate  of  Faust — a proof 
that  it  made  a general  appeal  to  the  more  energetic 
spirits  of  the  age.  In  the  previous  generation  Lessing 
had  been  interested  in  the  theme,  and  had  written 
a fragment  upon  it,  though  he  viewed  it  in  a different 
light  from  Goethe.  But  it  was  to  Goethe’s  con- 
temporaries that  the  legend  appealed  most  directly. 
Impatience  of  tradition  in  literature,  art,  and  social 
convention  was  the  inspiring  motive  of  the  youths 
of  the  Sturm  und  Drang,  and  they  saw  in  Faust  an 
attitude  of  mind  which  typified  their  own.  Many 
of  them,  therefore,  essayed  the  subject,  but  only 
Goethe  succeeded  in  treating  it  in  a fashion  that 
has  given  it  a permanent  interest. 

According  to  his  own  statement  it  was  in  1769, 
during  the  period  of  invalidism  that  followed  his 
wild  years  in  Leipzig,  that  the  conception  of  his 
Faust  first  came  to  him.  Physically  and  mentally, 
during  that  period,  his  condition  was  such  as  to 
produce  in  him  the  sense  of  baffled  effort  which 
drove  the  Faust  of  the  legend  to  his  desperate 
contract.  Measured  by  the  hopes  and  ambitions 
with  which  he  had  gone  to  Leipzig,  his  life  there 
had  been  a failure,  and  he  had  returned  home  sick 
in  body  and  morbid  in  mind.  He  was  also  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  legend  when,  to  solace  his  con- 
valescence, he  dabbled  in  chemical  experiments 
and  studied  such  visionaries  in  science  as  Paracelsus 
and  van  Helmont.  Yet  it  is  more  probable  that 
it  was  during  the  year  and  a half  (1770-71)  he 
spent  in  Strassburg  that  the  first  thought  came  to 
him  of  the  legend  as  a “ vessel,”  to  use  his  own 

1 See  above,  p.  213. 


THE  URFAUST 


721 


phrase,  into  which  he  could  pour  his  own  experience. 
It  was  in  Strassburg  that  he  came  into  full  possession 
of  his  genius,  that  his  conception  of  poetry  was 
transformed  under  the  inspiration  of  Herder  and 
other  influences,  and  that  his  passion  for  Friederike 
Brion  stirred  his  whole  nature  to  its  depths.  His 
state  of  mind  and  heart  in  Strassburg  therefore 
supplied  him  with  all  the  material  which  went  to 
the  production  of  the  Urfaust.  No  line  of  Faust, 
however,  appears  to  have  been  written  there.  It 
is  to  the  years  (1771-75)  which  he  subsequently 
spent  in  Frankfort  that  we  have  to  refer  the  first 
actual  work  on  the  poem  which  was  to  have  so 
chequered  a history. 

In  connection  with  the  beginning  of  Faust  it  is 
well  to  remember  Goethe’s  handling  of  other 
productions  of  the  same  period.  Gotz  von  Ber- 
lichingen  and  Weriher  were  written  in  the  course  of 
a few  weeks,  and  Clavigo  in  one  ; but  there  was  a 
whole  series  ( Prometheus , Mahomet,  Julius  Ccesar, 
Der  ewige  Jude)  each  of  which  he  began  and  dropped 
when  the  inspiration  left  him.  It  was  even  a 
probability  that  Faust  should  share  the  fate  of 
these  abortive  attempts ; from  his  intermittent 
work  on  it  in  its  early  stages  we  are  to  infer  that,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  fragments  named,  the  original 
inspiration  was  short-lived.  The  exact  date  when 
he  set  his  hand  to  Faust  has  not  been  determined. 
There  is  conclusive  evidence,  however,  that  the 
whole  of  what  is  known  as  the  Urfaust  was  written 
between  1773  and  1775 — the  Auerbach  Cellar  scene 
in  September  and  October  of  1775,  those  distracted 
weeks  which  he  spent  before  his  departure  to  Weimar. 
The  successive  portions  of  the  Urfaust  were  not 
all  composed  like  Gotz  and  Wertlner  at  one  burst 
of  inspiration,  although,  according  to  his  own 
testimony,  each  was  written  “ off-hand  without  a 
rough  draft.”  It  is  uncertain  in  what  order  they 
were  composed,  but  in  all  probability  the  opening 
scene  was  the  first  to  take  shape.  In  it  we  have 
vol.  n.  Y 


722  FA  ZJST — FIRST  PART 

the  primary  inspiration  of  the  poem,  and  the  germ 
from  which  both  of  the  Parts  eventually  developed. 

This  scene  introduces  us  to  Faust  seated  in  a 
Gothic  chamber  at  a decisive  hour  of  his  destiny. 
He  is  in  a mood  of  hopeless  disillusion  and  despair  ; 
he  has  spent  his  life  in  the  attempt  to  master  all 
the  learning  and  science  accessible  to  man,  and  the 
result  has  been  moral  and  intellectual  impotence. 
With  faith  in  man,  in  the  devil,  and  in  hell  all  alike 
lost,  he  has  taken  to  magic  in  the  hope  that  it  would 
enable  him  to  penetrate  to  the  reality  of  things. 
Interrupting  his  soliloquy,  he  opens  the  book  of 
Nostradamus  and  the  sign  of  the  Macrocosm  reveals 
to  him  a vision  of  the  operations  of  Nature  which 
entrances  him  for  a moment,  but  which  proves  to 
be  a mere  show  “ signifying  nothing.”  Indignant 
at  the  specious  appearance,  he  summons  the  Earth- 
Spirit,  but  is  overpowered  by  its  presence  despite 
his  claim  to  be  its  co-equal.  The  scenes  that  follow 
suggest  that  Goethe  had  no  clear  conception  of 
how  Faust  was  to  work  out  his  destiny  ; otherwise, 
obsessed  by  his  inspiration,  as  in  the  case  of  Gotz 
and  Werther,  he  would  have  found  no  deliverance 
of  spirit  till  he  had  achieved  its  complete  expression. 
The  dialogue  between  Faust  and  Wagner,  that 
between  Mepliistopheles  and  the  Student,  and  the 
Auerbach  Cellar  scene  are  all  prompted  by  personal 
memories  rather  than  by  their  connection  with 
the  fortunes  of  the  hero.  But  it  is  the  latter  part 
of  the  TJrfaust  which  proves  conclusively  that 
Goethe  had  in  his  mind  no  definite  plan  of  a drama 
concerned  with  the  fate  of  Faust,  with  all  the  elements 
proportioned  and  arranged  towards  a determinate 
end.  Nearly  three-fourths  of  the  whole  are  occupied 
with  an  entirely  unrelated  motive — the  tragedy  of 
the  seduction  of  Gretchen.  Mephistopheles,  indeed, 
appears  in  the  character  assigned  to  him  in  the 
completed  poem  as  the  tempter  of  Faust,  but  the 
tragedy  in  itself  is  a self-subsistent  creation, 
independent  of  the  scenes  that  precede  it.  In 


ITS  ORIGINAL  MOTIVES  723 

truth,  one  personal  experience  had  effaced  another,  and 
Goethe’s  nature  had  of  necessity  found  expression  in 
a succession  of  scenes  unsurpassed  by  anything  else 
he  ever  wrote  in  their  power  of  moving  the  heart. 

When  he  originally  took  up  the  subject  of  Faust, 
it  was  not  as  the  problem  which  it  afterwards  became 
for  him.  In  the  opening  monologue  he  was  merely 
giving  utterance  to  the  moral  and  intellectual 
ferment  which  he  shared  with  his  contemporaries. 
The  tragedy  of  Gretchen  was  similarly  prompted 
by  contemporary  interests  and  by  his  own  personal 
experience.  Cases  of  seduction  and  child-murder 
were  then  a morbid  interest  in  Germany,  and  were 
a common  theme  with  the  sensational  writers  of  the 
day.  But  there  were  reasons  why  the  theme  should 
specially  come  home  to  Goethe.  With  his  desertion 
of  Friederike  Brion  he  could  not  but  associate  tragic 
possibilities,  and  the  tragedy  of  Gretchen  was 
written  with  his  heart’s  blood,  which  cannot  be 
said  of  anything  else  that  came  from  his  hand. 
The  Urfaust,  in  both  of  its  Parts,  thus  sprang 
primarily  out  of  his  own  experience,  and  not  from 
any  definite  intention  of  producing  such  a world 
drama  as  we  have  in  the  final  form  of  the  work. 
When,  subsequently  to  the  Frankfort  period,  he 
resumed  the  theme  at  different  times,  the  direct 
spontaneous  intuition  never  came  to  him  in  the  same 
degree,  and  the  continuation  of  the  poem  became 
more  and  more  a problem  to  be  deliberately  solved 
by  a purely  intellectual  process. 

When  Goethe  went  to  Weimar  in  the  beginning 
of  November,  1775,  he  took  with  him  the  first  draft 
of  Egmont  and  the  portions  of  Faust  which  he  had 
written.  In  Weimar,  ever  susceptible  as  he  was  to 
immediate  influences,  he  gradually  became  another 
man,  morally  and  intellectually,  with  new  ideals  in 
life  and  art.  ITis  intellect  and  passions  found  new 
channels,  and  he  appears  to  have  had  no  impulse 
to  continue  his  work  at  Faust.  Such  poems  as 
Das  Gottliche  and  Grenzen  der  Menschheit  reveal  an 


724  FA  UST — FIRST  PART 

intellectual  phase  separated  by  a gulf  from  the  mood 
which  produced  the  monologue  of  Faust.  On 
different  occasions  what  he  had  written  was  read 
to  various  listeners,  who  were  profoundly  impressed 
by  its  power  and  promise  ; but  Carl  August  gave 
utterance  to  the  general  opinion  when  he  said  that 
it  was  “ a piece  of  a piece,”  and  that  the  public 
feared  that  it  would  never  be  more  than  a 
“ piece.”  1 

During  the  first  eleven  years  he  spent  in  Weimar 
the  desire  to  continue  his  work  on  Faust  was  evidently 
not  uppermost  in  his  thoughts,  and  in  Italy,  whither 
he  went  in  September,  1786,  his  state  of  mind  was 
not  such  as  to  reawaken  his  original  inspiration. 
During  the  period  of  his  residence  there,  he  was 
absorbed  in  the  worlds  of  nature  and  of  art,  and  his 
admiration  of  classical  ideals  grew  with  every  day 
of  his  Italian  sojourn.  It  was  inevitable,  therefore, 
that  the  “ Northern  phantoms  ” of  Faust,  as  he 
afterwards  came  to  call  them,  should  become  more 
alien  and  distasteful  to  him.  But  he  had  taken 
with  him  to  Italy  the  manuscripts  of  Faust,  Iphigenie, 
Egmont  and  Tasso,  and  he  had  come  under  a promise 
to  finish  them  for  the  edition  of  his  writings  being 
issued  by  Goschen.  Moreover,  as  he  was  indebted 
to  Carl  August  for  the  expenses  of  his  travels,  he 
felt  himself  under  an  obligation  to  produce  some 
substantial  work  in  return.  Iphigenie  and  Egmont 
he  did  complete  during  his  second  residence  in  Rome, 
but  the  references  to  Faust  in  his  letters  show  that 
he  had  no  overmastering  desire  to  continue  it. 
On  August  11,  1787,  he  wrote  to  the  Duke  that  he 
would  receive  Tasso  after  the  New  Year,  and  that 
Faust  would  precede  his  own  return — which  tasks 
finished,  he  w^ould  leave  a principal  epoch  in  his 
life  behind  him.  Three  months  later  in  the  same 
year  (November  3)  he  informs  the  Duke  that  there 
are  two  stones  on  the  road  before  him,  Tasso  and 
Faust,  and  he  compares  his  pains  with  them  to  the 

1 De  Konig  in  Thuh,  which  is  in  the  Urfaust,  was  published  in  17S2. 


EFFORTS  TO  COMPLETE  IT  725 

punishment  of  Sisyphus.  Two  months  more  elapse, 
when  he  tells  the  Duke  that  in  order  to  write  Tasso 
he  must  fall  in  love  with  a princess,  and  that  to 
write  Faust  he  must  give  himself  over  to  the  Devil, 
to  neither  of  which  adventures  he  was  inclined. 
But  the  most  significant  revelation  regarding  his 
dealings  with  Faust  is  contained  in  a passage  from 
his  Second  Sojourn  in  Rome,  dated  March  1,  1788. 
This  throws  such  a clear  light  on  the  condition  of 
mind  in  which  he  took  up  the  drama  again  that  it 
deserves  to  be  quoted  in  full. 

“ It  has  been  a fruitful  week,”  he  wrote,  “ and 
seems  like  a month  when  I look  back  on  it.  First 
I drew  up  the  plan  of  Faust,  and  I hope  that  the 
operation  has  been  successful.  Of  course  there’s 
a great  difference  between  finishing  the  piece  now, 
and  finishing  it  fifteen  years  ago.  I think  it  will 
lose  nothing  by  the  delay,  especially  as  I now  believe 
I have  recovered  the  thread.  In  respect,  too,  of 
the  tone  of  the  whole,  I feel  comforted.  I have 
already  completed  a new  scene,  and  if  I were  to 
smoke  the  paper,  nobody,  I think,  would  be  able 
to  pick  it  out  from  among  the  old  ones.  As  the  long 
rest  and  retirement  have  wholly  restored  me  to  the 
niveau  of  my  own  existence,  it  is  remarkable  how 
much  like  my  former  self  I am,  and  how  little  my 
inward  nature  has  suffered  from  years  and  adventures. 
The  old  manuscript,  when  I see  it  before  me,  often 
makes  me  think.  It  is  still  the  original  one,  even 
the  main  scenes  written  down  off-hand  without  a 
rough  draft.  Now  it  is  so  yellow  with  age,  so  out 
of  order — the  sheets  were  never  stitched  together — 
so  soft  and  worn  at  the  edges,  that  it  really  looks 
like  the  fragment  of  an  old  codex,  so  that,  just  as 
in  those  days  I transplanted  myself  into  an  earlier 
world  by  thought  and  imagination,  now  I transplant 
myself  again  into  a part  of  my  own  experience.” 
These  various  references  to  Faust  leave  us  with 
the  impression  that  Goethe  resumed  it  out  of  no 
overpowering  impulse,  but  as  a task  which  it  was 


726  FA UST — FIRST  PART 

incumbent  on  him  to  complete  to  the  best  of  his 
power.  He  had  lost  its  original  “ thread  ” and  to 
recover  it  he  had  to  throw  himself  back  into  his 
past  by  an  effort  of  will.  He  thought  he  had 
succeeded  in  the  effort,  and,  in  accordance  with  the 
new  “ plan  ” 1 he  had  formed,  he  wrote  to  his  own 
satisfaction  two  additional  scenes  2 during  his  second 
residence  in  Rome — Hexenkiiche  and  Wald  und 
Hohle.  Subsequent  criticism,  however,  has  found 
that  in  neither  of  these  scenes  has  Goethe  achieved 
the  success  he  imagined.  In  the  Witch’s  Kitchen 
we  are  introduced  to  a different  atmosphere  from 
the  magical  one  in  which  Faust  originally  moved. 
It  would  seem,  too,  that  in  his  effort  to  recover 
the  original  mood  in  which  he  took  up  the  subject, 
he  overshot  the  mark  and  produced  a scene  whose 
repulsiveness  and  triviality  are  not  redeemed  by 
poetic  suggestiveness.  As  representing  the  rejuvena- 
tion of  Faust,  it  has  its  place  appropriately  enough 
after  the  Auerbach  Cellar  scene  in  the  completed 
poem,  but,  artistically  considered,  it  is  of  undue 
length,  and,  moreover,  it  displays  the  tendency  which 
in  later  scenes  was  to  mar  so  seriously  the  unity 
of  treatment— the  tendency  to  introduce  references 
to  contemporary  questions  foreign  to  the  main 
theme.  The  scene  Wald  und  Hohle,  which,  in  the 
drama  as  we  have  it,  follows  the  Summer-House 
scene,  representing  Faust  and  Gretchen  in  the  relations 
of  lovers,  has  met  with  severe  criticism.  The  verse 
in  which  it  is  written  is  that  which  is  used  in  Tasso 
and  Iphigenie  with  the  express  intention  of 
reproducing  the  effect  of  the  verse  of  Greek  tragedy, 
and  it  is,  therefore,  out  of  keeping  with  the  tone 
of  the  original  Faust.  More  serious  objections  have 
been  adduced : the  content  of  the  scene  suggests 
that  Faust  had  relations  with  the  Earth-Spirit  which 
have  no  place  in  the  preceding  scenes ; and  it 
implies  that  Mephistopheles  was  an  emissary  of 

1 This  plan  has  not  been  recovered. 

2 A third  scene  according  to  K.  Fischer. 


THE  FRAGMENT  PUBLISHED  727 


the  Earth-Spirit  and  not  of  Hell,  as  is  clearly  indicated 
in  what  goes  before,  with  the  result  that  the  pact 
of  Faust  is  made  unintelligible.  Thus  the  general 
effect  of  the  Wald  und  H'oMe  scene  is  that,  by  both 
form  and  substance,  it  breaks  the  unity  and  harmony 
of  the  poem  as  a whole. 

Though  Goethe  was  gratified  with  the  success  of 
the  two  Faust  scenes  he  wrote  in  Italy,  he  was  not 
stimulated  to  put  all  his  other  engagements  aside, 
and  devote  himself  unreservedly  to  the  task  he  had 
resumed.  He  returned  to  Weimar  in  June,  1788, 
and  during  the  following  months  he  set  himself  to 
complete  Tasso — a more  congenial  occupation. 
During  the  same  period  he  was  engaged  on  the 
Roman  Elegies  and  the  Venetian  Epigrams,  and 
was  deeply  interested  in  anatomy  and  optics.  He 
was  bound,  however,  to  contribute  a portion  of 
Faust  to  the  edition  of  bis  works  then  passing  through 
the  press,  and  at  Easter,  1790,  it  appeared  in  the 
eighth  volume  under  the  title  of  Faust,  ein  Fragment. 
The  Frag?nent  differs  from  the  Urfaust  in  several 
important  respects  ; it  contains  no  prose  scenes  ; 
the  dialogue  between  the  Scholar  and  Mephistopheles 
is  recast ; the  Auerbach  Cellar  scene  is  in  verse  ; 
Mephistopheles,  not  Faust,  plays  the  part  of  the 
Conjurer ; and  the  Prison  scene  is  omitted.  The 
most  important  modification  on  the  Urfaust,  how- 
ever, is  the  change  that  is  manifest  in  Faust’s 
aspirations.  In  the  Urfaust  he  is  consumed  with 
the  passion  for  universal  knowledge  ; in  the  Frag- 
ment, as  in  the  completed  drama,  the  passion  that 
devours  him  is  for  universal  enjoyment.  The 
reception  of  the  Fragment  was  anything  but 
encouraging  ; its  inconsecutive  character  was  not 
fitted  to  satisfy  the  general  reader  at  a time  when 
the  French  Revolution  was  engrossing  men’s  minds. 
It  was  adversely  criticized  in  contemporary  journals, 
and  even  Goethe’s  own  friends,  Korner,  Wieland 
and  Schiller,  thought  its  publication  a mistake. 

During  the  four  years  following  the  publication 


728  FATJST — FIRST  PART 

of  the  Fragment  in  1790  Goethe  made  no  further 
additions  to  Faust.  There  were  various  causes 
which  led  him  to  put  it  aside.  Iphigenie,  Tasso, 
and  the  Fragment  had  alike  been  coldly  received, 
and  he  felt  himself  alienated  from  a public  wTiich 
looked  for  different  things  from  his  hand.  During 
these  four  years  he  came  to  be  absorbed  by  two 
interests  which  relegated  Faust  to  a subsidiary  place 
in  his  thoughts.  He  was  so  obsessed  by  the  French 
Revolution  that  he  had  to  relieve  his  mind  by  the 
succession  of  pieces  prompted  by  .that  event.  And 
in  May,  1791,  he  made  his  imagined  discovery 
regarding  the  error  of  Newton’s  theory  of  light, 
and  thenceforward,  in  a measure  beyond  Faust 
or  any  other  of  his  imaginative  wTorks,  the  proving 
of  his  own  theory  absorbed  his  mental  activities. 
Moreover,  his  classical  affinities  now  dominated 
him  more  than  ever,  and  he  regarded  with  positive 
repulsion  the  theme  of  Faust  and  the  artistic  form 
which  it  demanded.  It  seemed  not  unlikely,  indeed, 
that  Faust  would  remain  one  of  the  many  abortive 
productions  which  mark  the  track  of  his  literary 
career. 

The  impulse  to  resume  it,  as  happened  so  often 
with  Goethe,  came  from  without.  In  the  spring 
of  1794  there  was  inaugurated  the  association  with 
Schiller  which  was  to  result  in  such  an  efflorescence 
of  his  genius.  Their  intercourse  had  not  advanced  far 
when  the  stimulus  of  Schiller  induced  him  to  take 
up  the  long  discarded  Theatralische  Sendung  of 
Wilhelm  Meister  and  to  transform  it  into  the  Lehr- 
jahre.  To  Faust  Schiller  performed  a similar  service  ; 
as  we  owe  to  Eckermann  the  completion  of  the 
Second  Part,  so  we  owe  the  completion  of  the  First 
Part  to  Schiller.  In  a letter,  dated  the  29th  of 
November,  1794,  the  latter  makes  the  first  announce- 
ment of  his  interest  in  Faust.  The  published 
Fragment,  he  tells  Goethe,  seemed  to  him  like  “ a 
torso  of  Hercules,”  and  he  expressed  a wish  to  see 
the  portions  that  had  not  been  given  to  the  world. 


SCHILLER’S  INFLUENCE  729 

It  was  the  beginning  of  their  communications  on 
the  subject,  as  recorded  in  their  correspondence. 
And  the  record  is  of  special  interest  in  the  psychology 
of  genius  ; for  it  is  a vivid  commentary  on  the 
lines  : — 

But  tasks  in  hours  of  insight  will’d 

Can  be  through  hours  of  gloom  fulfill’d. 

The  problem  before  Goethe  in  taking  up  Faust 
afresh  was  precisely  similar  to  that  which  he  had  to 
face  at  the  same  period  in  dealing  with  the  Theatra- 
lische  Sendung.  Since  the  Sendung  was  written,  a 
new  conception  had  come  to  him  which  necessitated 
an  enlargement  of  its  scope,  and  his  difficulty  was 
to  effect  a unity  between  the  old  work  and  the  new. 
He  found  it  an  impossible  task  to  achieve  this  with 
complete  success  ; in  his  own  words,  he  could  not 
entirely  get  rid  of  the  early  treatment.  So  it  was, 
as  we  know,  with  Faust  ; the  emotional  experience 
which  had  inspired  the  Urfaust  was  dead,  and  a 
new  inspiration  and  a new  conception  were  necessary 
if  the  early  work  was  to  grow  into  a harmonious 
whole.  In  the  correspondence  between  the  two 
friends  we  have  the  memorial  of  Goethe’s  efforts 
to  compass  this  end. 

Goethe’s  reply  to  Schiller’s  request  for  a sight  of 
the  unpublished  part  of  Faust  is  remarkable  ; he 
dared  not  unpack  it,  he  said,  as  he  would  then  have 
to  resume  work  on  it— and  for  that  he  had  not  the 
courage ; although,  he  adds,  if  anything  would 
induce  him  to  do  so  in  the  future,  it  was  Schiller’s 
interest  in  the  poem.  To  another  request  of  Schiller 
some  weeks  later  (January  2,  1795)  that  he  would 
bring  some  scenes  of  Faust  to  Jena  with  him,  no 
reply  is  extant,  and  it  is  not  till  the  following  August 
that  Faust  is  again  referred  to  in  the  correspondence. 
“ With  Faust”  Goethe  then  writes,  “ I get  on 
just  as  with  a powder  which  has  once  settled  down 
after  being  dissolved ; so  long  as  you  are  there  to 
shake  it,  it  seems  to  be  combining  afresh,  but  as 


730  FAUST — FIRST  PART 

soon  as  I am  alone  again,  it  gradually  sinks  to  the 
bottom.”  An  interval  of  nearly  two  years  elapses 
before  another  allusion  to  Faust  occurs  in  the  letters. 
During  these  years,  indeed,  Goethe’s  other  engage- 
ments might  sufficiently  explain  the  neglect.  Apart 
from  his  scientific  studies,  he  wrote  much  of  Meister, 
collaborated  with  Schiller  in  the  Horen  and  the 
Xenien , and  completed  Hermann  und  Dorothea. 
But  the  subsequent  correspondence  supplies  the 
real  reason  why  Faust  had  fallen  into  the  back- 
ground. 

In  the  spring  of  1797  Goethe  determined  to 
undertake  a third  journey  to  Italy  and,  in  company 
with  Meyer,  to  collect  materials  for  their  projected 
history  of  Italian  art.  The  Italian  campaign  of 
Napoleon  prevented  his  carrying  out  his  intention, 
and  he  had  to  limit  his  travels  to  Switzerland,  where 
he  remained  from  the  end  of  July  till  the  middle 
of  November.  In  conditions  which  led  Schiller  to 
say  that  he  gave  up  the  attempt  to  understand  his 
friend’s  mental  processes,  Faust  came  to  a veritable 
rebirth.  During  the  weeks  immediately  preceding 
his  Swiss  journey,  Goethe  found  himself  so  restless 
in  mind  that  he  felt  the  need  of  some  fresh  interest 
to  steady  him,  and  he  turned  to  Faust.  On  June 
22  he  communicated  to  Schiller  the  result  of  his 
renewed  effort.  In  his  present  distracted  mood, 
he  wrote,  he  had  again  taken  up  Faust  with  the 
object,  if  not  of  finishing  it,  at  least  of  making 
material  additions.  There  follows  one  of  the  most 
important  statements  in  the  history  of  the  poem’s 
development.  He  had  arranged  in  masses  all  that 
had  been  written  or  invented,  with  a view  to  its 
further  working  out,  though  he  had  as  yet  only 
an  “ idea  ” how  this  was  to  be  done — an  idea,  how- 
ever, regarding  which  he  had  pretty  well  made  up 
his  mind.  Henceforward,  therefore,  he  must  have 
had  a plan  of  the  work  before  him,  though  the 
difficulties  of  evolving  it  proved  such  as  often  to 
make  him  despair  of  success.  His  conflicting  moods 


THE  TASK  RESUMED 


731 


regarding  it  are  curiously  illustrated  in  the  letters 
addressed  to  Schiller  during  the  weeks  preceding 
his  Swiss  journey.  On  June  27  he  wrote  that 
Faust  would  always  remain  a fragment ; on  July  1, 
that  he  had  made  a considerable  progress  with  the 
plan  and  general  survey  ; on  July  5,  that  Faust 
had  been  laid  aside,  as  “ Southern  reminiscences  ” 
had  driven  the  “ Northern  phantoms  ” into  the 
background  for  the  time  being. 

Another  long  interval  was  to  elapse  before  Goethe 
again  resumed  his  work  at  Faust,  but  the  foundations 
of  the  First  Part  of  the  drama,  as  we  have  it,  had 
been  laid.  During  the  month  of  June  he  had  written 
the  three  opening  pieces — the  Zueignung,  the  V or  spiel 
auf  dem  Theater,  and  the  Prolog  im  Himmel.  All 
three  indicate  the  moral  and  intellectual  change 
which  Goethe  had  undergone  since  he  had  first 
put  his  hand  to  the  Urfaust.  The  Zueignung, 
which  has  no  essential  connection  with  the  drama 
that  is  to  follow,  is  his  confession  to  the  world  of  the 
altered  feelings  and  conditions  under  which  he 
regarded  the  theme  that  had  inspired  his  passionate 
youth.  The  most  pathetic  of  all  his  self-references, 
it  recalls  the  days  of  his  original  inspiration  and  of 
his  youthful  friendships,  and  expresses  his  indifference 
to  a world  no  longer  in  sympathy  with  him.  The 
V or  spiel  is  likewise  not  a component  part  of  the 
drama,  but  primarily  a self- deliverance  on  his 
experience  as  Director  of  the  Weimar  Theatre.1 
In  the  passionate  protest  of  the  Theatre-Poet  against 
the  opinions  of  the  Director  and  the  Merry-Andrew, 
who  maintain  that  the  object  of  the  playwright 
should  be  to  divert  the  populace,  the  author  gives 
utterance  to  his  own  baffled  endeavour  to  make  the 
stage  a means  of  educating  public  opinion.  In 
the  Prolog  im  Himmel  we  may  have  the  “ idea  ” 
out  of  which  Goethe  conceived  that  the  drama  might 
be  evolved.  In  the  Court  of  Heaven  a wager  is 
struck  between  Mephistopheles  and  the  Lord. 

1 It  was  suggested  by  the  Sakuntala. 


732 


FAUST — FIRST  PART 


Mephistopheles  is  given  full  liberty  to  exercise  all 
his  arts  to  the  ruin  of  Faust,  and  is  confident  of  his 
final  victory.  But  the  Lord  is  equally  confident 
that  he  will  fail,  and,  as  we  must  suppose  that  the 
Lord  is  omniscient,  we  are  assured  that  Faust  will 
emerge  triumphant  from  the  ordeal.  What  Goethe 
now  had  to  do,  therefore,  was  to  work  out  a drama 
in  consistency  with  the  wager. 

He  returned  from  Switzerland  in  the  middle  of 
November,  but  apparently  not  in  a mood  favourable 
to  Faust.  On  December  6,  he  wrrote  to  Schiller  : 
“ I shall  probably  one  of  these  days  be  taking  up 
my  Faust,  parti}7  in  order  to  get  rid  of  this  Tragelaph, 1 
partly  in  order  to  prepare  myself  for  a higher  and 
purer  state  of  mind,  it  may  be  for  TdV  2 In  the 
spring  of  the  following  year  (1798),  the  mood  for 
Faust  again  revived,  and,  moreover,  the  publisher 
Cotta  had  expressed  a w7ish  to  issue  something  fresh 
from  his  hand.  On  April  28  Goethe  told  Schiller 
that  he  would  finish  the  work  and  that  Meyer  might 
be  induced  to  make  drawings  for  the  “ barbarous 
production.”  By  the  first  week  of  May  he  was 
able  to  report  that  he  had  made  considerable 
progress  ; the  old,  confused  manuscript  had  been 
copied  and  its  parts  arranged  and  numbered  in 
accordance  with  a detailed  scheme  ; he  could  now, 
therefore,  take  it  up  wrhen  he  felt  in  the  humour. 
A notable  part  of  his  work  at  this  time  was  the 
alteration  from  prose  to  verse  of  the  wonderful 
Prison  Scene,  which  concludes  the  First  Part.  In 
the  Urfaust  that  scene  had  been  written  in  prose, 
but  Goethe’s  instinct  told  him  that  the  painfulness 
of  its  theme  required  the  medium  of  verse  if  aesthetic 
pleasure  w7as  to  predominate  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader.  Less  happily  inspired  was  his  resolve  to 
embody  in  the  completed  drama  a piece  which  had 

1 “ Goat-stag  ” a hybrid  monster.  The  name  was  suggested  by  the 
first  volume  of  Jean  Paul’s  Hesperus. 

2 It  has  already  been  mentioned  that  Goethe,  as  the  result  of  his  visit 
to  Switzerland,  thought  of  writing  an  epic  on  Tell. 


INTERMITTENT  PROGRESS  733 

been  originally  composed  with  no  relation  to  Faust. 
In  1797  he  had  begun  a satire  entitled  Oberons  und 
Titanias  goldne  Hochzeit,  and  intended  as  a continua- 
tion of  the  war  on  the  dunces  initiated  by  the  Xenien. 
On  second  thoughts  both  Schiller  and  Goethe 
resolved  to  abandon  the  war,  and  Goethe  had  the 
whim  to  give  the  satire  a place  in  Faust  and  call  it 
an  Intermezzo.  By  general  consent  its  admission  into 
the  tragedy  is  an  artistic  error.  Consisting  mainly  of 
sarcastic  references  to  contemporary  art,  literature, 
and  philosophy,  and  their  representatives,  it  has 
no  connection  with  the  fate  of  Faust,  and  the 
references  themselves  are  so  obscure  as  to  make  them 
void  of  interest  for  later  generations.  The  insertion 
of  the  scene  is,  indeed,  only  another  illustration 
of  Goethe’s  inability  to  withhold  extraneous  matter 
in  which  he  was  interested  from  any  imaginative 
work  on  which  he  happened  to  be  engaged. 

Between  1798  and  1801,  the  year  when  it  was 
virtually  completed,  Goethe  continued  his  work 
on  the  First  Part  of  Faust  in  the  same  intermittent 
fashion.  As  usual,  he  had  many  other  things  in 
hand.  He  wrote  numerous  short  poems  and  ballads, 
started  the  publication  of  the  Propylden,  began 
his  abortive  epic,  the  Achilleis,  and  translated 
Voltaire’s  Mahomet  and  Tancred — pieces  which,  as 
imitations  of  classical  models,  were  not  fitted  to 
encourage  the  mood  for  his  “ TragelaphP  As  his 
communications  to  Schiller  show,  indeed,  it  was 
always  the  same  difficulty  that  prevented  steady  and 
continuous  application  to  Faust — the  difficulty  of 
presenting  the  theme  under  the  conditions  of  antique 
beauty.  As  it  happened,  certain  favourable 
circumstances  disposed  him  to  entertain  a more 
confident  hope  of  achieving  a happy  result.  The 
writing  of  his  ballads,  he  says,  had  reawakened  his 
interest  in  Northern  themes.  In  1798  had  appeared 
the  first  issue  of  the  Athenaeum,  in  which  the  new 
Romantics  proclaimed  a doctrine  of  aesthetic  in 
direct  opposition  to  the  classical  ideals  for  which 


734  FAUST— FIRST  PART 

Goethe  and  Schiller  had  been  regarded  as  contending. 
But  Faust  must  be  essentially  a romantic  production, 
and,  when  it  was  given  to  the  world,  it  would  at 
least  appeal  to  a public  prepared  for  it.  Moreover, 
an  incident  in  the  Faust  legend  suggested  a means 
of  bringing  the  Gothic  and  the  Classical  under  one 
large  conception.  Goethe  says  that  the  notion  had 
occurred  to  him  long  before.  The  legendary  Faust 
is  represented  as  procuring  the  Grecian  Helena 
for  a concubine,  and  Goethe  wTas  struck  by  the  idea 
that  his  Faust  might  somehow  be  brought  into 
significant  relations  to  her  also.  From  his  letters 
to  Schiller  in  September,  1800,  we  learn  that  he 
had  formed  a conception  of  how  this  was  to  be 
effected  and  had  even  begun  to  embody  it  in  actual 
writing.  His  original  intention  was  to  find  a place 
in  the  First  Part  of  Faust  for  the  Helena  scenes, 
but,  as  we  know,  this  intention  was  subsequently 
abandoned  and  they  were  to  form  a central  and 
integral  part  of  the  continued  drama.  The 
importance  of  the  fact  that  the  conception  of  Helena 
suggested  itself  when  it  did,  is  that  it  renewed  and 
quickened  his  interest  in  his  uncongenial  theme, 
and  opened  up  possibilities  of  treatment  com- 
mensurate with  his  matured  conclusions  regarding 
life  and  art. 

With  the  exception  of  a few  subsequent  additions 
and  modifications,  the  First  Part  of  Faust  was  com- 
pleted during  the  years  1800  and  1801.  The  scene, 
Vordem  Thor,  in  whichFaustand  Wagner,  during  their 
Easter  evening  walk,  encounter  Mephistopkeles  in  the 
form  of  the  poodle,  has  been  assigned  on  uncertain 
grounds  to  the  spring  of  1800.  That  it  is  at  least 
of  relatively  late  date  in  the  progress  of  the  drama 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  it  is  conceived  and  com- 
posed in  Goethe’s  classical  manner.  Of  the  two 
scenes  that  follow  Vor  dem  Thor,  both  entitled 
Studierzimmer,  the  first  is  of  doubtful  date,  but  we 
have  Schiller’s  authority  for  assigning  the  second, 
containing  Faust’s  pact  with  Mephistopkeles,  to 


735 


ITS  COMPLETION 

April,  1800.  Planned  in  1797  as  introductory  to 
Oberons  und  Titanias  goldne  Hochzeit,  the  Walpurgis- 
nacht,  which  describes  the  witches’  gathering  on 
the  Brocken,  was  finished  in  the  last  months  of 
1800  and  in  February  and  March  of  1801.  At 
Easter,  1808,  the  completed  First  Part  was  given 
to  the  world  under  the  title  of  Faust,  eine  Tragodie. 
It  was  received  with  acclamation  by  readers  of 
all  classes  and  of  all  tastes.  The  German  public 
again  recognized  the  genius  that  had  taken  the 
world  by  storm  in  Gotz  and  Werther  ; and  thence- 
forward, not  only  for  Germany  but  for  Europe  at 
large,  Goethe  was  the  poet  of  Faust  and  not  the 
novelist  of  Werther. 

The  record  of  his  efforts  to  develop  the  original 
scenes  into  a finished  whole  suggest  that  he  regarded 
the  task  as  an  incubus  of  which  it  was  necessary 
somehow  to  get  rid.  The  admiration  of  the  Urfaust 
expressed  by  the  friends  who  had  seen  or  heard 
it,  by  his  most  discerning  critic  Merck  among  others, 
was  a strong  encouragement  to  complete  what  he 
had  so  promisingly  begun.  But,  as  we  have  seen, 
during  his  first  eleven  years  in  Weimar  the  conception 
of  Faust  was  effaced  by  new  ideals,  and  he  devoted 
himself  by  preference  to  other  literary  undertakings. 
During  his  Italian  journey  he  did  make  the  attempt 
to  resume  the  threads  where  they  had  been  dropped 
but,  as  his  own  words  show,  rather  from  a sense  of 
obligation  than  out  of  urgent  inspiration.  On  his 
return  to  Weimar  in  June,  1788,  Faust  still  remained 
in  the  background  ; he  wrote  no  new  scenes,  and  it 
was  only  the  demand  of  his  publisher  that  led  him 
to  give  the  Fragment  to  the  world  in  1790.  The 
years  1795-1801  saw  the  completion  of  the  work, 
but  his  correspondence  indicates  how  irksome  and 
frequently  ungrateful  he  found  his  toil.  But  for 
the  stimulus  of  Schiller  and  the  urgency  of  the 
publisher  Cotta  it  is  probable  that  the  world  would 
have  been  bereft  of  one  of  its  great  posses- 
sions. As  late  as  March,  1800,  Schiller  expressed 


736  FA UST — FIRST  PART 

to  Cotta  his  fear  that  Faust  would  never  be 
finished. 

A work  on  the  scale  of  Faust,  produced  under 
such  conditions,  could  not  have  the  unity  of  inspira- 
tion and  harmony  of  structure  possessed  by  works 
like  the  Divina  Commedia  and  Paradise  Lost,  in 
which  the  original  intention  of  their  authors  is 
dominant  from  beginning  to  close.  Goethe’s  first 
purpose  had  been  to  treat  the  Faust  legend  in  a 
succession  of  scenes  as  he  had  treated  the  auto- 
biography of  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  and  to  use  them 
as  a vehicle  for  expressing  the  emotions  and  aspira- 
tions that  were  agitating  himself  and  his  con- 
temporaries. He  outgrew  this  conception,  but  his 
difficulty  was  to  find  another  that  would  enable 
him  to  develop  a great  whole  on  the  foundations 
of  the  original  scenes,  of  the  power  of  which  he  was 
fully  conscious.  After  long  reflection  he  found 
what  he  considered  such  a conception,  and,  in 
accordance  with  it,  he  intermittently  made  the 
successive  additions  necessary  to  embody  it.  The 
spontaneous  impulse  to  the  theme  of  Faust,  how- 
ever, became  spent,  and  the  additions  to  the  Urfaust 
are  all  more  or  less  the  result  of  conscious  reflection. 
Composed  in  this  fashion  the  poem,  as  a whole,  must 
inevitably  exhibit  defects  at  once  in  the  structural 
adaptation  of  its  parts  and  in  prevailing  harmony 
of  tone.  Faust,  it  has  been  said,  is  the  most  faulty 
of  the  world’s  great  poems.  A brief  sketch  of  its 
development  will  indicate  the  process  by  which  it 
was  built  up. 

As  has  been  already  said,  the  two  introductory 
pieces,  the  Zueignung  and  the  V or  spiel  auf  dem 
Theater,  form  no  essential  part  of  the  drama  ; the 
one  expresses  Goethe’s  personal  feelings  in  resuming 
the  work  of  his  youth,  the  other  his  experience  as 
Director  of  the  Weimar  Theatre.  In  the  third 
piece,  the  Prolog  im  Himmel,  the  subject  of  the  drama 
and  the  course  it  is  to  follow  are  announced.  The 
Lord  and  Mephistopheles  come  to  an  agreement 


THE  OPENING  SCENES  737 

regarding  Faust : Mephistopheles  is  given  full  liberty 
to  apply  all  bis  arts  to  effect  Faust’s  spiritual  ruin, 
and  is  confident  of  his  success,  the  Lord  being  equally 
confident  of  his  failure.  In  the  opening  scene  of 
the  First  Act  we  have  the  oldest  portion  of  the  whole — 
Faust’s  despairing  soliloquy,  his  disillusion  with  the 
vision  revealed  by  the  sign  of  the  Macrocosm,  the 
apparition  of  the  Earth  Spirit,  and  his  dialogue 
with  his  famulus  Wagner.  This  scene  was  extended 1 
at  a later  date  by  a second  monologue  of  Faust 
(after  the  exit  of  Wagner),  which  concludes  with 
his  resolution  to  end  his  despair  by  drinking  poison, 
an  act  from  which  he  is  saved  by  hearing  the 
Easter  morning  bells  and  the  choruses  of  women  and 
angels.  Here  we  have  the  first  discrepant  note 
between  the  Urfaust  and  the  portions  of  the  drama 
as  it  was  subsequently  continued : reflection  pre- 
dominates over  feeling,  and  the  result  is  a perceptible 
change  both  in  rhythm  and  in  expression. 

The  next  scene,  Vor  dem  Thor,  is,  strictly  speaking, 
the  beginning  of  the  drama,  as  we  are  prepared  for 
its  evolution  by  the  Prologue  in  Heaven.  Faust 
and  Wagner  in  their  Easter  evening  walk  in  the 
environs  of  the  town,  mingle  with  a miscellaneous 
crowd  of  townsfolk,  whose  various  interests  are 
described,  and  in  the  course  of  their  walk  encounter 
the  poodle  whose  form  Mephistopheles  has  assumed.2 
In  this  scene  we  have  again  Goethe’s  later  hand, 
containing,  as  it  does,  a manifest  contradiction  to 
what  is  said  in  the  first  scene,  and  conceived  and 
written  in  his  fully  developed  classical  style.  Of 
similarly  late  origin,  with  the  exception  of  one 
passage,  are  the  two  following  scenes,  both  entitled 
Studierzimmer.  In  the  first  we  have  Faust  alone 
with  the  poodle,  soliloquising  in  a mood  incongruous 
with  that  of  the  first  monologue.  His  wild  desires 
chastened,  he  takes  up  the  New  Testament  instead 

1 From  line  606. 

3 Originally  Goethe  had  thought  of  a different  means  of  bringing 
Mephistopheles  and  Faust  together. 

VOL.  II. 


Z 


738  FAUST— FIRST  PART 

of  the  Book  of  Nostradamus,  and  his  attention  is 
arrested  by  the  opening  words  of  the  Gospel  of  St. 
John  : “In  the  beginning  was  the  Word,”  which, 
he  thinks,  would  read  better : “In  the  beginning 
was  the  Deed” — a reflection,  as  critics  have  pointed 
out,  expressing  the  conviction  of  the  mature  Goethe, 
but  hardly  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  Faust 
as  originally  conceived.  The  voices  of  spirits  singing 
and  the  Easter  morning  bells  interrupt  the  soliloqu}^ 
and  Mephistopheles  emerges  from  the  poodle  in 
the  dress  of  a travelling  Scholar.  In  the  bantering 
conversation  that  follows,  Mephistopheles  reveals 
traits  of  character  which,  by  their  inconsistency 
with  those  he  exhibits  elsewhere,  point  to  the  inter- 
mittent manner  of  his  creation.  With  the  second 
Studierzimmer  scene,  containing  Faust’s  pact  with 
Mephistopheles,  the  soliloquy  of  Mephistopheles,  and 
his  talk  with  the  Student,  criticism  has  dealt  even 
more  severely.  The  pact  has  been  found  full  of 
contradictions  ; the  Mephistopheles  of  the  soliloquy 
is  not  the  Mephistopheles  of  the  Prologue  in  Heaven, 
and  in  his  talk  with  the  Student  it  is  Goethe’s  own 
voice  that  we  hear. 

The  Auerbach  Cellar  scene,  which  is  next  in  order, 
affords  another  illustration  of  the  general  tendency 
of  Goethe’s  later  manner.  As  it  appears  in  the 
Urfaust,  it  is,  with  the  exception  of  the  opening  lines, 
written  in  prose,  and  it  has  all  the  gusto  of  recent 
memories  of  scenes  which  the  poet  had  himself 
witnessed  in  Leipzig.  Done  into  verse  in  the 
completed  drama,  and  with  Faust  as  a mere  on- 
looker, it  has  in  some  degree  lost  the  character 
of  improvisation  that  so  markedly  distinguishes 
the  original.  The  Witch’s  Kitchen  follows,  and  we 
have  seen  what  strictures  have  been  passed  on  it  in 
its  relation  to  the  whole.  Then  come  the  successive 
scenes  of  the  Gretchen  tragedy  which,  except  that 
the  concluding  one  has  been  changed  from  prose  to 
verse,  are  virtually  as  they  appear  in  the  Urfaust. 
In  the  Urfaust  the  Gretchen  tragedy  is  a self- 


LACK  OF  ORGANIC  UNITY  739 

subsistent  whole,  and  the  problem  before  Goethe 
was  to  make  it  an  organic  part  of  a complete  Faust 
drama.  Its  disproportionate  length  was  a difficulty 
that  could  not  be  got  over,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
sacrifice  a work  which  is  the  supreme  effort  of  his 
genius,  and  he  retained  it.  To  effect  some  kind 
of  unity  between  the  Gretchen  tragedy  and  the 
other  parts  of  the  finished  work,  he  added  the  three 
new  scenes — Wald  und  Hohle,  the  Walpurgisnacht, 
and  the  W alpurgisnaclntstraum.  By  general  consent 
all  of  these  are  unfortunate  interpolations.  In  the 
first  there  are  statements  which  are  at  variance  with 
the  relations  elsewhere  implied  between  Faust  and 
Mephistopheles,  and  the  other  two  are  excrescences 
out  of  harmony  with  the  drama  as  a whole. 

A saying  of  La  Bruyere  is  doubtless  applicable 
to  Goethe  when  his  writings  are  reviewed  as  a whole, 
“ II  est  peut-etre  moins  difficile  aux  rares  genies 
de  rencontrer  le  grand  et  le  sublime  que  d’eviter 
toute  sorte  de  fautes.”  But,  in  truth,  Goethe  was 
as  well  aware  as  were  his  critics  that  he  had  not 
effected  a complete  fusion  of  the  successive  elements 
that  make  up  the  First  Part  of  Faust.  In  one  of 
his  Conversations  Eckermann  represents  himself  as 
making  some  remarks  to  Goethe  on  this  very  point. 
The  various  scenes  of  Faust,  he  said,  were 
“ independent  little  worlds,  which,  each  being 
complete  in  itself,  do  indeed  work  upon  each  other, 
yet  come  but  little  in  contact.”  “ The  great  point 
with  the  poet,”  he  went  on  to  say,  “is  to  express 
a manifold  world,  and  he  uses  the  story  of  a celebrated 
hero  merely  as  a sort  of  thread  on  which  he  may 
string  what  he  pleases.”  “ You  are  perfectly  right,” 
was  Goethe’s  comment,  “ and  the  only  matter  of 
importance  is,  that  the  single  masses  should  be  clear 
and  significant,  while  the  whole  remains  incom- 
mensurable— and  just  on  that  account,  like  an 
unsolved  problem,  constantly  dares  mankind  to 
study  it  again  and  again.” 

If  Goethe  intended  his  Faust  to  be  a standing 


740  FAUST — FIRST  PART 

riddle  (and  it  would  not  be  the  only  riddle  he  has 
offered),  his  intention  has  been  realized.  No  poem  has 
invoked  in  greater  measure  what  Lamb  calls  “ the 
conjectural  spirit.”  “ To  master  in  a single  life- 
time all  that  has  been  written  about  Faust,”  says 
one  of  his  German  biographers,  “ is  impossible,” — 
and  the  same  writer  adds  that  the  multitude  of 
commentaries  on  Faust  has  been  prejudicial  to  its 
popularity  as  spreading  the  impression  that  it  is 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  ordinary  reader. 
The  general  aim  of  the  various  commentators, 
indeed,  has  been,  not  to  contribute  directly  to  our 
enjoyment  of  it,  but  to  raise  problems  to  be  solved. 
One  attempt  of  commentators,  which  Goethe  regarded 
as  the  besetting  sin  of  his  countrymen,  and  which 
he  indignantly  condemned,  has  been  to  discover 
an  “ idea  ” in  Faust  which  will  supply  the  key  to 
its  interpretation.  In  Faust,  as  in  the  case  of  his 
other  longer  works,  he  told  Eckermann,  there  is 
no  one  governing  idea  either  in  the  poem  as  a whole 
or  in  its  different  scenes.  The  concluding  words 
of  the  V or  spiel  auf  dem  Theater,  “ From  Heaven 
through  the  world  to  Hell,”  he  said,  “suggest  a course 
of  action,  but  not  an  idea  : neither  is  it  an  idea, 
but  only  an  illuminating  thought,  to  regard  the 
poem  as  the  picture  of  a man  struggling  with  error 
and  finally  attaining  redemption.”  In  words,  the 
truth  of  which  is  avouched  by  all  his  works  of 
larger  scope,  he  described  the  working  of  his  mind 
in  the  production  of  Faust.  “ It  was  not  in  my 
line,  as  a poet,”  he  said,  “ to  strive  to  embody  any- 
thing abstract.  I received  in  my  mind  impressions, 
and  those  of  a sensual,  animated,  charming,  hundred- 
fold kind,  just  as  a lively  imagination  presented 
them ; and  I had,  as  a poet,  nothing  more  to  do 
than  artistically  to  round  off  and  elaborate  such 
views  and  impressions  ...”  And  in  the  same 
passage,  in  words  reminiscent  of  a well-known  saying 
of  La  Bruyere,  he  indicates  in  what  spirit  a work 
of  genius,  like  Faust,  should  be  approached.  “ Only 


ITS  PECULIAR  CHARACTER  741 


have  the  courage  to  give  yourself  up  to  your 
impressions,  allow  yourself  to  be  delighted,  moved, 
elevated,  nay,  instructed  and  inspired  for  something 
great ; but  do  not  imagine  all  is  vanity,  if  it  is  not 
abstract  thought  and  idea.” 

Faust  has  one  peculiarity  that  distinguishes  it 
from  the  great  masterpieces  in  poetry  with  which 
it  has  to  be  ranked  ; in  it  we  have  the  manifestation 
of  a puissant  genius  in  its  earliest  and  its  maturest 
development.  In  the  first  monologue  of  Faust 
we  have  the  passionately  rebellious  mood  of  Marlowe, 
deepened  and  enriched  by  the  thought  and  experience 
of  the  world  during  the  interval  that  separates  the 
two  youthful  rebels  ; in  the  Auerbach  Cellar  scene, 
another  side  of  youth,  its  defiant  and  frolicsome 
humours  ; and  in  the  Gretchen  scenes,  all  youth’s 
keenness  and  freshness  of  feeling.  From  the  poet’s 
later  hand  we  have  the  conversation  between 
Mephistopheles  and  the  Scholar,  in  which  the 
cynical  view  of  men  and  things  is  presented  by  the 
matured  thinker  and  man  of  the  world  ; the  Wald 
und  Hohle  scene,  where  we  have  Goethe’s  contempla- 
tions on  nature  at  once  as  a man  of  science  and  as 
a poet ; and  the  wild  Mayday  night  journey  of 
Faust  and  Mephistopheles  to  the  Witches’  Meeting 
on  the  Brocken,  a ghastly  symbol  of  Faust’s  own 
tormented  course  through  the  world  of  experience 
which  he  had  bartered  his  soul  to  enjoy. 

“ There  is  in  man,”  it  has  been  said,  “ an  instinct 
of  revolt,  an  enemy  of  all  law,  a rebel  which  will 
stoop  to  no  yoke,  not  even  to  that  of  reason,  duty 
and  wisdom.”  1 This  inalienable  characteristic  of 
human  nature,  as  Goethe  knew,  ensures  a permanent 
interest  in  his  Faust  as  a type  of  struggling  and 
aspiring  humanity.  The  fate  of  Faust  does  not 
indeed  constitute  an  exclusive  interest  of  the  drama, 
but  it  is  an  “ illuminating  thought  ” which  is  present 
to  the  reader  and  reminds  him  of  the  momentous 
issue  at  stake.  It  is  probable  that,  in  Goethe’s 

1 Amiel  (Mrs.  Humphry  Ward’s  Translation,  1913),  p.  164. 


742 


FAUST — FIRST  PART 


original  conception,  Faust  was  to  be  overmastered 
by  bis  passions  and  to  make  shipwreck  of  himself 
like  Werther.  There  are  indications  of  this  in  the 
completed  drama.  But  such  a conclusion  was 
alien  to  the  mind  of  Goethe  in  his  maturity.  In 
spite  of  his  many  pessimistic  utterances  even  in  his 
later  years,  his  view  of  man’s  hopes  and  aspirations 
was  essentially  optimistic,  and  he  was  profoundly 
convinced  that  life  was  a boon  which  could  be 
enjoyed  and  directed  to  beneficent  ends.  “ Man 
wanders  on  the  earth,”  he  said,  in  a memorable 
passage,  “ in  order  to  stablish  for  himself  an  eternal 
being  : duty  and  virtue  are  the  means  thereto.” 
Such  being  his  settled  conviction  regarding  the 
issues  of  human  life,  it  was  imperative  for  him  to 
change  his  original  conception  and  to  make  Faust 
an  exemplar  of  the  lot  of  man  as  he  described  it  in 
the  lines : — 


Denn  ich  bin  ein  Mensch  gewesen 
Und  das  heisst  ein  Kampfer  sein. 

In  the  First  Part  of  the  poem  we  are  left  in  doubt 
as  to  whether  Faust  will  eventually  emerge  victorious 
from  his  ordeal  or  not.  At  the  time  when  he  makes 
his  pact  with  Mephistopheles,  he  had  thrown  all 
restraints  to  the  winds.  “ Let  us  quench  our  glowing 
passions  in  the  depths  of  sensuality,”  he  says  to 
his  tempter.  In  the  Auerbach  Cellar  scene,  the 
first  in  which  Mephistopheles  seeks  to  gratify  Faust’s 
desire  of  knowing  life  in  all  its  forms,  he  is  a silent 
onlooker,  and  there  is  no  hint  to  indicate  how  he 
regards  it.  He  is  disgusted  by  the  hideousness 
of  what  he  sees  and  hears  in  the  Witch’s  Kitchen, 
but  his  passion  is  stirred  by  the  image  of  the  beautiful 
woman  he  beholds  in  the  mirror.  At  the  sight  of 
Gretchen  on  her  way  home  from  her  confessor,  he 
shows  himself  a veritable  Don  Juan,  utterly  callous 
and  bent  at  all  costs  on  gratifying  his  desires.  In 
her  room  a feeling  of  the  sanctities  of  life  is  awakened 
in  him  and  his  better  self  gains  the  ascendancy, 


VARYING  MOODS  743 

but  merely  for  the  moment.  When  Mephistopheles 
tells  him  that  he  can  win  her  only  on  condition  of 
falsely  testifying  that  Martha’s  husband  is  dead, 
he  indulges  in  self-sophistications  which  Mephisto- 
pheles merciless^  exposes,  and  in  the  end  consents, 
though  reluctantly,  to  make  the  affirmation.  In  the 
wonderful  Garden  scene,  where  Faust  and  Gretchen, 
and  Martha  and  Mephistopheles  carry  on  their 
respective  talks,  Faust  appears  to  be  under  the 
spell  of  Gretchen’s  artless  innocence.  From  the 
Wald  und  Hohle  we  are  to  infer  that  he  has  resolved 
to  leave  her  in  her  innocence,  that  his  better  soul 
has  been  awakened  through  his  intercourse  with 
nature,  and  that  he  has  come  to  loathe  the  companion 
to  whom  he  is  bound.  Reminded,  however,  that 
meanwhile  Gretchen  is  spending  her  days  in  misery 
at  his  loss,  he  consents  to  rejoin  her,  and  Mephisto- 
pheles accomplishes  his  immediate  purpose.  In  the 
famous  confession  of  his  faith  which  he  makes  to 
Gretchen,  is  revealed  his  full  consciousness  of  the 
double  part  he  is  playing.  It  is  a self-sophisticating 
utterance  which  Mephistopheles  justly  mocks  as 
an  evasive  answer  to  Gretchen’s  simple-hearted 
question.  In  the  Walpurgisnacht  scene  his  sight 
of  the  phantom  of  one  like  Gretchen  in  chains  awakes 
in  him  a bitterness  of  remorse  that  impels  him  to 
seek  her  in  her  dungeon.  From  his  passionate 
desire  for  her  rescue,  however,  we  are  not  to  conclude 
that  his  better  instincts  have  finally  triumphed ; 
for  the  time  the  feeling  of  the  misery  he  has  wrought 
overcomes  every  other,  but  the  possession  of  Gretchen 
could  not  permanently  satisfy  a nature  like  his,  and 
he  has  to  run  another  course  before,  in  accordance 
with  his  compact,  he  can  say  to  the  passing  moment, 
“ Stay,  thou  art  so  fair  ! ” 

But,  as  Goethe  himself  said,  the  thought  of 
Faust’s  fate  does  not  constitute  the  all-absorbing 
interest  of  the  drama.  We  are  made  to  forget  his 
covenant  with  Mephistopheles  by  the  range  of  gifts 
displayed  in  the  successive  scenes,  which  energize 


744  FAUST — FIRST  PART 

in  turn  each  faculty  of  the  reader — reason,  imagina- 
tion, feeling.  All  the  persons  of  the  poem  are  types, 
but  types  of  a different  quality  from  those  of  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre  or  of  Die  natiirliche  Tochter. 
All  in  their  own  way  are  instinct  with  feeling  and 
provoke  a direct,  human  interest  kept  alive  by  the 
varying  emotions  they  awake. 

For  Goethe,  Mephistopheles  incarnated  the  essence 
of  all  that  in  nature  and  human  experience  retards 
man  in  his  higher  development.  Through  faith 
and  enthusiasm  alone,  he  held,  can  man  attain  to 
his  true  humanity,  and  it  is  the  part  of  Mephistopheles 
to  paralyse  these  emotions  at  their  source.  He  had 
seen  partial  exemplifications  of  the  Mephistopheles’ 
spirit  in  Behrisch,  Merck  and  Herder  ; and,  according 
to  Eckermann,  he  himself  on  occasion  could  display 
it  in  a degree  that  astonished  his  listeners.  But 
it  was  a spirit  essentially  alien  to  his  own,  and 
Mephistopheles  in  his  being  was  repugnant  to  his 
creator.  Yet  in  none  of  his  imaginative  figures 
has  Goethe  displayed  more  careful  elaboration,  more 
continuous  verve.  The  consistency  of  Mephisto- 
pheles as  a mocker  of  all  human  ideals  is  complete ; 
his  vivacity  is  irrepressible,  his  armoury  of  weapons 
inexhaustible.  As  he  appears  in  contrast  to  Faust, 
he  is  a permanent  reminder  of  the  law  of  iron}’  in 
the  essence  of  things,  of  the  absurdity  that  is  inter- 
woven with  life. 

In  Goethe’s  matured  conception  the  career  of 
Faust  was  to  typify  the  moral  and  intellectual 
temptations  that  beset  man  in  the  conduct  of  life 
and  the  conditions  under  which  victory  is  to  be  won. 
Within  his  own  experience  Goethe  had  seen  more  than 
one  endowed  with  good  gifts  make  shipwreck  of 
their  lives.  Two  friends  of  his  j^outh,  Lenz  and 
Merck,  had  ended  their  miseries  by  suicide — an 
act  from  which  Faust  was  saved  by  supernatural 
intervention.  The  experience  of  the  morbid  youth 
Plessing  had  once  suggested  to  him  that  success 
or  failure  in  life  is  not  in  man’s  own  hands.  In 


THE  HERO’S  PREROGATIVE  745 


his  Harzreise,  prompted  by  Plessing’s  fate,  he  had 
written  these  lines  : — 

Denn  ein  Gott  hat 
Jedem  seine  Baku 
Vorgezeichnet, 

Die  der  Gltickliche 
Rasch  zum  freudigen 
Ziele  rennt  ! 

Wem  aber  Ungliick 
Das  Herz  zusammenzog, 

Er  straubt  vergebens 
Sich  gegen  die  Schranken 
Des  ehemen  Padens. 

Den  die  doch  bittro  Scheere 
Nur  einmal  lost. 

It  is  another  view  of  life’s  possibilities  that  is  presented 
in  the  Prologue  in  Heaven — a view  which  is  made 
to  justify  the  Lord’s  confidence  in  Faust’s  final 
triumph  over  Mephistopheles.  “ Es  irrt  der  Mensch, 
so  lang  er  strebt,”  the  Lord  admits  to  Mephisto- 
pheles ; but  he  grounds  his  confidence  in  the  ultimate 
salvation  of  Faust  on  what  he  further  says  : — 

Ein  guter  Mensch  in  seinem  dunkeln  Drange 
1st  sich  des  rechten  Weges  wolil  bewusst. 

In  his  youth  Goethe  had  been  exercised  by  the 
eternal  problem  of  necessity  and  free-will,  and  he 
even  -wrote  a short  article  on  the  subject,  in  which 
he  concludes  for  man’s  power  of  self-determination. 
In  the  case  of  certain  of  his  heroes,  indeed,  he 
represents  them  as  powerless  in  the  hands  of  destiny  ; 
by  “ daemonic  ” influence  Egmont  is  borne  along 
to  his  doom,  and  Werther,  Tasso  and  Clavigo  are 
made  the  victims  of  their  temperaments.  In  the 
conduct  of  his  own  life,  however,  it  was  the  pre- 
supposition of  Goethe  that  it  lay  with  himself  to 
master  the  elements  in  his  nature  in  which  there 
were  possibilities  of  disaster.  This  prerogative  he 
assigns  to  his  Faust,  who  is  thus  differentiated  from 
the  heroes  of  his  earlier  pieces.  In  all  these  characters 
he  depicted  a side  of  his  own  nature — his 


746  FAUST — FIRST  PART 

“ chameleon  ” habit  of  mind,  his  susceptibility  to 
immediate  influences ; but  to  Faust  he  assigns 
the  power  of  self-recovery  which  he  himself  possessed 
in  such  eminent  degree.  In  Faust,  therefore,  we 
have  a closer  image  of  Goethe,  as  he  was  in  his 
completeness,  than  in  any  other  of  the  characters  he 
has  created.  Faust,  like  Goethe,  has  a passionate 
desire  to  fathom  the  secrets  of  nature,  and  with 
this  passion  he  combines  the  temperament  of  the 
poet.  He  is  liable  to  be  assailed,  therefore,  both 
on  the  side  of  sense  and  of  spirit.  In  words  already 
quoted,  Goethe  identifies  Faust’s  moral  and 
intellectual  despair  with  his  own  experience.  “ I 
also,”  he  says,  “ had  wandered  at  large  through  all 
the  fields  of  knowledge,  and  its  futility  had  early 
enough  been  shown  to  me.  In  life  I had  experimented 
in  all  manner  of  ways,  and  always  returned  more 
dissatisfied  and  distracted  than  ever.”  Of  the 
Gretchen  scenes,  in  which  another  side  of  Faust’s 
nature  is  displayed,  the  same  may  be  said ; they 
were  directly  prompted  by  his  relations  to  Friederike 
Brion.  Friederike  regarded  Goethe,  as  Gretchen 
regarded  Faust — as  one  who  had  dropped  into  her 
circle  from  a higher  sphere,  and  as  possessed  of 
gifts  and  graces  new  and  strange  to  her.  As  she 
appears  in  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  her  leading 
characteristic  was  precisely  that  artless  innocence 
which,  reproduced  in  Gretchen  with  such  consummate 
delicacy  of  touch,  makes  the  tragedy  of  her  betrayal 
and  doom  almost  too  painful  for  aesthetic  pleasure. 
How  much  of  Goethe’s  own  experience  inspired  him 
in  his  delineation  of  Gretchen’ s fate  is  attested  by 
his  own  words  relative  to  his  desertion  of  Friederike. 
“ Friederike’ s reply  to  a written  adieu,”  he  says, 
“ lacerated  my  heart.  It  was  the  same  hand,  the 
same  mind,  the  same  feeling  that  had  been  developed 
in  her  for  me  and  through  me.  For  the  first  time 
I now  realized  the  loss  she  suffered,  and  saw  no  way 
of  redressing  or  even  of  alleviating  it.  Her  whole 
being  was  before  me ; I continually  felt  the  want  of 


ITS  REAL  GREATNESS  747 

her,  and,  what  is  worse,  I could  not  forgive  myself 
my  own  happiness.” 

The  successive  scenes  which  depict  the  relations 
between  Faust  and  Gretchen  till  the  culminating 
tragedy  are  Goethe’s  supreme  triumph  as  a poet, 
and  of  all  parts  of  the  poem  they  make  the  widest 
human  appeal,  but  they  do  not  constitute  its  essential 
greatness.  Its  real  greatness  is  found  in  its  intellectual 
interest  for  the  modern  world.  What  the  Divine 
Comedy  and  Paradise  Lost  did  for  their  respective 
ages,  Faust  did  for  Goethe’s.  Dante  and  Milton 
gave  poetic  expression  to  the  deposit  of  thought 
into  which  they  were  born  and  which  they  accepted 
with  personal  conviction.  Unshackled  by  any 
authority,  Goethe  in  his  Faust  presents  no  systematic 
body  of  doctrine,  but  in  its  hero  he  symbolizes  the 
human  spirit  in  its  limitless  quest  after  satisfaction 
for  soul  and  sense.  By  the  intellectual  and  imagina- 
tive power  with  which  this  temper  of  mind  is  embodied 
in  Faust  the  First  Part  of  the  drama  has  a foremost 
place  among  the  poetic  works  of  modern  times. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 


FAUST — SECOND  PART 

(By  Lord  Haldane) 

Professor  Hume  Brown  had,  shortly  before  his 
death,  completed  his  account  of  the  First  Part  of 
Faust , which  forms  Chapter  XXXVII.  in  this  volume. 
The  Second  Part  he  had  considered,  and  he  left  a 
few  notes  which  he  had  apparently  intended  to  use. 
I feel  that  the  attempt  which  follows,  to  accom- 
plish what  he  alone  could  have  completed  as  an 
harmonious  critical  estimate  of  the  poem  as  a 
whole,  is  beyond  my  capacity  to  make  adequate^. 
But  the  alternative  has  been  to  leave  his  book 
defective,  and  this  I do  not  think  he  would  have 
desired.  For  not  only  did  he  bequeath  to  me  his 
notes,  but  he  and  I had  discussed  the  Second  Part 
very  frequently  over  a long  period  of  years.  I 
therefore  think  it  best  to  try,  however  imperfectly, 
to  supply  the  filling  of  what  would  otherwise  be 
a gap. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  Professor  Hume  Brown 
that  Goethe  had  no  settled  purpose  of  working  out 
an  abstract  theme  in  Faust.  His  was  not  an 
abstract  mind — 

Grau,  theurer  Freund,  ist  alle  Theorie, 

Und  grim  des  Lebens  goldner  Baum, 

he  makes  Mepliistopheles  say  to  the  student  in  the 
First  Part.  The  thinker  in  him  was  ever  giving 
place  to  the  artist.  At  times  it  is  his  own  personal 
feeling  about  the  figures  he  creates,  and  their  places 

748 


CORPORALISM 


749 


in  a series  of  pictures,  that  is  dominant  over 
the  ethical  element  which  is  still  rarely  absent 
altogether.  This  circumstance  renders  Faust  an 
imperfect  work  of  art.  We  do  not  find  in  it 
the  quality  of  “ inevitableness  ” in  the  sequence  of 
the  story,  nor  is  the  relation  to  one  another  of  the 
scenes  always  apparent.  Still  in  few  poems  of  any 
period  are  there  greater  thoughts  strewn  about,  and 
in  still  fewer  is  so  lofty  a level  reached.  There  is 
much  that  is  ponderous  in  the  narrative,  for  instance 
the  utterances  of  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  in  the 
second  scene  of  the  First  Act,  to  his  suite,  and  their 
replies  to  him.  But,  as  Matthew  Arnold  remarks 
in  his  essay  on  Scherer  as  a critic  of  Goethe,  language 
of  this  kind  is  the  outcome,  not  of  servility  in  the 
poet,  but  of  his  German  “ corporalism.”  Corporal- 
ism,  reverence  for  the  authority  of  institutions  as 
such,  is  a form  of  the  abstract  mind  which  has 
prevailed  in  different  aspects  throughout  the  short 
literary  history  which  is  all  that  Germany  can  call 
her  own.  She  has  not  lived  long  enough  as  a nation 
to  outgrow  the  tendency  to  attach  undue  import- 
ance to  abstractions.  France  and  England  have 
long  ago  gone  into  revolt  against  this  tendency. 
But  among  Germans  we  find  it  even  among  the 
philosophers,  such  as  Kant  and  Hegel,  and  we  find 
it  in  Goethe.  The  militarism  of  modern  times  has 
in  large  part  arisen  out  of  this  tendency.  It  has 
afforded  a fertile  soil  on  which  to  raise  an  exag- 
gerated disposition  towards  submission  to  authority. 
The  Revolution  obliterated  all  traces  of  this  tendency 
in  France.  It  may  be  that  the  outcome  of  the  recent 
great  war  will  prove  to  have  done  enough  to 
produce  an  analogous  result  in  Germany. 

Yet  even  in  old  Germany  submission  to 
authority  has  often  been  associated  with 
freedom  from  self-deception.  No  one  knew  better 
than  Goethe  himself  the  futility  of  pomp  and 
ceremony.  He  hated  it  as  it  showed  itself  con- 
centrated at  Berlin.  But  he  was  a German  of  the 


750  FA  UST — SECOND  PART 

eighteenth  century,  and  in  Germany  in  those  days 
this  kind  of  influence  was  everywhere  in  the  atmo- 
sphere. We  must  take  it  as  part  of  a larger  context 
apart  from  which  the  poet  could  not  be  national. 
And  it  did  not  hinder  Goethe  from  being,  despite 
a form  which  often  jars  on  us,  what  Matthew 
Arnold  calls  him,  “ the  clearest,  the  largest,  the  most 
helpful  thinker  of  modern  times.”  He  touched  at 
moments  the  very  highest  level  as  an  artist ; he 
touched  still  oftener  the  highest  level  as  a critic  of 
life. 

The  key  to  both  the  First  and  the  Second  Parts 
of  Faust  is,  in  my  own  view,  to  be  found  in  the 
Prologue  in  Heaven,  which  introduces  the  First 
Part.  The  author  lays  hold  here  of  an  idea  which 
at  moments  passes  out  of  sight  in  both  parts.  But 
it  always  recurs,  and,  with  forms  of  expression 
which  often  vary,  dominates  the  whole  poem. 

The  Devil  there  converses  with  the  Deity.  In 
answer  to  the  question  whether  there  is  nothing  on 
the  earth  which  he  finds  right,  he  replies  that  there 
is  nothing  that  is  not  bad.  When  asked  whether 
he  knows  Faust,  the  servant  of  God,  he  replies : 
“ Forsooth,  he  is  thy  servant  in  a very  odd 
fashion.  His  food  and  drink  are  far  from  being 
earthly.  He  is  always  looking  beyond,  and  is  half 
conscious  of  his  own  madness.  From  heaven  he 
demands  the  fairest  stars,  and  from  earth  the 
greatest  pleasures ; and  yet  neither  what  is  at 
hand  nor  what  is  remote  satisfies  his  unruly  breast.” 
But  the  Lord  answers  that  “ though  at  present 
Faust  is  serving  me  in  a confused  way  I will  yet 
lead  him  to  the  light.”  The  Devil  asks  whether 
the  Lord  will  give  him  permission  to  try  to  lead 
Faust  away  into  his  own  particular  path.  The 
Lord  replies  that  so  long  as  Faust  is  alive  so  long 
may  the  Devil  try  ; “ Es  irrt  der  Mensch  so  lang 
er  strebt.”  The  Lord  then  bids  him  lead  this  man,  if 
he  can,  away  from  the  source  of  his  being,  and  take 
him  on  to  the  downward  path.  He,  however,  warns 


THE  DOMINATING  CONCEPTION  751 

the  Devil  that  he  must  stand  ashamed  if  in  the  end 
he  has  to  confess  that  “ a good  man  even  in  the 
hours  of  darkest  pressure  is  yet  conscious  of  the 
true  path  that  lies  before  him.”  The  Devil  joyfully 
accepts  the  permission  thus  given,  and  proclaims 
that  Faust  will  end  by  eating  dust  and,  like  the 
serpent,  eating  it  with  pleasure.  But  the  Lord 
rejoins  that  it  is  just  because  “the  energy  of  man 
can  too  easily  be  made  to  slumber,  in  so  far  as  he  is 
apt  to  love  doing  nothing  too  fondly, that  he  has  given 
him  as  his  constant  attendant  one  who  tempts  and 
works  and  creates  as  the  Devil  must.  But  do  ye 
men,  the  true  sons  of  God,  rejoice  in  the  beauty 
that  lives  in  all  its  riches ; the  self-creative  power 
that  ever  works  and  grows,  do  ye  make  your  own  in 
noble  bonds  of  love ; your  task  is  to  grasp  and  set 
in  thought  that  endures  what  is  else  but  passing 
appearance.” 

I think,  as  I have  said,  that  so  far  as  a single 
conception  dominates  the  two  parts  of  the  poem 
it  is  in  these  words  of  the  Prologue  that  it  is  to  be 
sought  for.  But,  as  Professor  Hume  Brown  has 
pointed  out,  it  was  not  in  Goethe’s  nature  either 
to  write  poetry  without  reference  to  a guiding 
system  of  thought,  or  to  write  it  for  the  purpose 
of  setting  forth  such  a system.  He  is  pre-eminently 
a reflective  poet  but  he  is  not  consistently  so.  One 
has  only  to  turn  over  the  pages  of  the  Gedichte, 
which  consist  of  his  short  and  isolated  verses,  to 
see  how  many-sided  he  was  in  this  respect.  Adler 
und  Taube,  Das  Gottliche,  and  Bins  und  Alles  lie 
in  the  volume  side  by  side  with  Erlkonig,  Der  Konig 
in  Thule , and  Kennst  du  das  Land.  He  seems, 
even  in  his  most  serious  mood,  suddenly  to  let 
himself  go,  and  to  break  into  the  imaginative  and 
sensuous.  He  does  not  intend  in  the  Second  Part 
of  Faust  to  confine  himself  to  one  kind  of  poetry. 
He  passes  from  mood  to  mood.  It  is  Goethe  him- 
self that  is  the  guiding  thread,  the  Goethe  of  many 
phases  and  interests,  the  temporary  domination  of 


752 


FA  UST — SECOND  PART 


which  it  is  his  set  purpose  not  to  resist.  But  just 
because  it  is  Goethe  himself  that  really  appears  in 
every  scene,  the  scope  of  the  poem  is  enlarged. 
For  he  was  a man  of  all  sorts  of  moods.  In  Part  I. 
we  have  the  Goethe  who  is  still  young.  In  Part  II. 
we  have  the  Goethe  who,  now  mature,  has  come 
to  most  of  his  conclusions.  But  in  both  parts  we 
have  an  intelligence  of  the  first  order,  applying 
itself  amid  ever  varying  experiences. 

The  composition  of  Part  II.  was  not  less  inter- 
mittent than  that  of  Part  I.  Between  the  publica- 
tion of  the  First  Part  and  the  completion  of  the 
Second,  twenty-four  years  elapsed.  Some  portions 
of  the  Second  Part  were  indeed  written  before  the 
First  was  finished  in  its  final  form.  But  between 
1800  and  1825  little  was  done  with  it  by  Goethe. 
It  was  in  1825  that  he  really  set  to  work  to  complete 
his  work.  He  finished  it  in  the  autumn  of  1831, 
and  it  was  published  in  its  entirety  in  1832,  just 
before  his  death. 

Before  saying  more  about  Part  II.  it  will  be 
useful  to  recall  the  course  of  its  narrative,  and  to 
try  to  give  a rather  more  detailed  anafysis  of  the 
story  than  was  given  in  the  case  of  the  First  Part 
by  Professor  Hume  Brown.  The  reason  is  that 
the  story  is  much  less  familiar. 

In  the  First  Part  Faust  has  made  his  covenant 
with  the  Devil  that  if  and  when  he  should  say  to 
any  moment  of  satisfaction  with  which  the  Devil 
might  provide  him,  “ Stay,  thou  art  so  fair,”  he  should 
then  serve  the  Devil  as  the  latter  was  in  the  first 
instance  to  serve  him.  Professor  Hume  Brown 
observes  that  there  seemed  at  times  to  be  in  Goethe’s 
mind  uncertainty  as  to  whether  this  might  not 
happen.  But  coupling  the  passages  in  the  Pro- 
logue with  the  suggestion  of  contemptuous  doubt 
on  Faust’s  part  of  the  capacity  of  Mephistopheles 
to  satisfy  him,  I think  that  Goethe  finally  meant 
throughout  to  exhibit  the  attempt  of  the  latter  as 
ultimately  destined  to  fail.  Neither  the  Deity  nor 


THE  OPENING  SCENE  753 

Faust  himself  ever  rated  high  the  ability  of  the 
Tempter  of  Mankind  to  fathom  the  difference 
between  quantity  and  quality. 

However  this  may  be,  the  Devil’s  effort  to 
satisfy  Faust,  as  recorded  in  the  First  Part,  is  a 
failure.  Faust  is  disgusted  with  Satan’s  efforts  and 
with  himself.  The  seduction  of  Gretchen  and  her 
untimely  fate  have  horrified  him.  It  is  therefore 
natural  that  in  the  Second  Part  a new  order  of 
pleasures  should  be  offered  by  the  Tempter.  Faust 
is  an  older  man,  and  what  appeals  to  him  is  the 
sort  of  success  about  which  an  older  man  would 
care.  Mere  sensual  enjoyment  cannot  suffice. 
Power  over  earthly  resources  and  command  of 
those  of  Art  are  more  appropriate.  It  is  probably 
true,  as  Professor  Hume  Brown  thought,  that 
Goethe’s  own  mood  had  changed,  and  that  in  the 
Second  Part  the  change  is  markedly  manifested. 
He  was  now  far  away  from  the  wild  doings  of  his 
career  as  a student  at  Leipzig.  He  had  had  a long 
experience  of  official  life  at  Weimar  before  he 
began  to  work  again  at  the  poem,  and  the  influence 
of  this  is  apparent. 

Part  II.  begins  with  a scene  in  which  Faust  is 
lying  on  the  turf  amid  beautiful  surroundings,  but 
in  an  uneasy  and  broken  slumber.  Ariel  and  other 
Spirits  hover  over  him,  and  spray  him  with  the 
waters  of  Lethe.  The  purpose  is  by  means  of 
sleep  and  oblivion  to  enable  him  to  live  afresh,  to 
“ make  him  strong  to  meet  the  day,”  and  to  restore 
him  to  the  light.  It  is  to  nature  that  Goethe  cha- 
racteristically turns  for  the  accomplishment  of  this 
purpose,  and  not  to  any  moral  stimulus.  The  sun 
rises,  and  Faust  awakens  firm  in  a resolution  to 
strive  towards  the  highest  in  life.  The  rays  of  the 
sun,  forming  rainbows  in  the  spray  of  the  torrent 
near  him,  move  his  spirit,  and  in  the  refracted 
colours  he  sees  the  symbol  of  human  life  which  is 
never  unbroken  light.  The  scene  concludes  with 
a famous  line  in  which  he  expresses  this  at  the  end 
VOL.  ii.  2 A 


754 


FA  UST — SECOND  PART 


of  a soliloquy,  “ Am  farbigen  Abglanz  liaben  wir 
das  Leben.” 

The  next  scene  is  laid  in  the  hall  of  the  German 
Emperor’s  palace.  The  Emperor  advances  to  the 
throne  amid  a crowd  of  ministers  and  retainers. 
But  there  is  gloom,  for  money  is  lacking  every- 
where, and  society  is  falling  into  disorder  for  the 
want  of  it.  The  Emperor’s  Court-fool  has  died  and 
his  place  is  still  vacant.  He  was  a very  fat  man. 
Suddenly  there  appears,  as  a candidate  for  the  post, 
a very  thin  stranger.  It  is  Mephistopheles  in 
disguise,  and  he  is  appointed.  The  Emperor  is  at 
the  moment  in  despair  over  the  reports  of  his 
ministers,  and  he  turns  to  the  new  fool  and  asks 
him  whether  he  cannot  add  to  the  tale  of  woe.  But 
Mephistopheles  laughs  at  the  ministers,  and  tells 
the  Emperor  that  there  is  abundant  wealth  that 
can  be  made  available.  It  is  everywhere  to  be 
found,  he  asserts,  in  the  shape  of  buried  treasure 
hidden  in  various  parts  of  His  Majesty’s  dominions 
in  the  days  when  the  Empire  was  invaded.  The 
Emperor  bids  Mephistopheles,  if  this  be  so,  to 
procure  this  wealth.  The  latter  at  once  under- 
takes to  do  so.  There  is  a good  deal  of  doubt 
about  his  character  among  the  ministers  who  listen 
to  him,  but  the  majority  declare  that  they  do  not 
mind  how  he  gets  the  money,  if  he  will  only  get 
it.  He  undertakes  to  produce  it  by  Ash  Wednesday, 
which  is  impending.  Meantime  a carnival  mas- 
querade is  organized,  and  this  is  the  subject  of  the 
third  scene  in  the  Fust  Act. 

In  this  scene  the  herald  announces  all  manner 
of  poets,  but  there  are  so  many  of  them  that  they 
cannot  compete  in  an  orderly  fashion.  He  then 
summons  a variety  of  figures,  such  as  the  Graces 
and  the  Parcse,  famous  in  Greek  mythology,  and 
finally  Plutus  with  his  wealth.  This  is  displayed 
to  the  crowd,  but  Plutus  frightens  them  back  by 
setting  the  surroundings  on  fire.  This  flame,  kindled 
by  magic  by  Mephistopheles,  who  has  arranged 


THE  EMPERORS  COURT  755 

everything  beforehand,  is  extinguished  by  the  same 
means. 

In  the  fourth  scene  Faust  and  Mephistopheles 
appear  together  at  the  Emperor’s  Court,  and  Faust 
asks  the  Emperor’s  pardon  for  having  brought  about 
this  jugglery  of  flame.  The  Emperor,  who  has  been 
delighted  with  the  spectacle  the  two  have  pro- 
duced without  damage  to  him,  not  only  pardons 
but  thanks  them.  Presently  the  Lord  High  Steward, 
the  Commander-in-Chief  and  the  Treasurer  enter 
hastily  to  give  the  Emperor  great  news.  Paper 
money  has  been  created  on  Mephistopheles’  sug- 
gestion, in  the  shape  of  notes  issued  in  the  Emperor’s 
name  and  secured  on  the  buried  treasure  hidden  in 
his  dominions.  Every  section  of  the  community 
is  delighted  and  money  is  now  abundant.  The 
notes  are  accepted  in  place  of  currency,  but,  as  one 
of  the  ministers  observes,  “ mit  Rabatt,”  at  a dis- 
count, still,  with  this  qualification,  freely. 

“ Such  paper,”  declares  Mephistopheles,  the  in- 
ventor, “ ’stead  of  gold  and  jewellery,” 

So  handy  is — one  knows  one’s  property, 

One  has  no  need  of  bargains  or  exchanges, 

But  drinks  of  love  or  wine  as  fancy  ranges. 

At  first  the  Emperor  is  shocked  and  asks  who 
has  dared  to  append  his  signature  to  these  notes. 
But  he  is  told  that  he  had  himself  sanctioned  the 
measure  for  the  “ people’s  good  ” the  night  before, 
perhaps  not  realizing  the  mode  in  which  the  benefit 
would  be  conferred.  On  being  reminded  of  this 
the  Emperor  at  once  assents  to  what  has  been 
done,  and  not  the  less  willingly  because  he  hears 
that  his  health  is  being  drunk  everywhere.  As  a 
reward  for  their  services  he  appoints  Faust  and 
Mephistopheles  custodians  of  the  soil  where  the 
treasure  is  supposed  to  lie. 

The  fifth  scene  follows  at  this  point.  The 
Emperor  has  expressed  a wish  that  the  strangers 
should  enable  him  to  see  the  model  forms  of  man 


756  FAUST — SECOND  PART 

and  woman,  Paris  and  Helena ; and  Faust,  feeling 
bound  to  comply,  demands  that  Mephistopheles 
should  produce  them.  The  latter,  who  has  retired 
with  Faust  to  a sombre  gallery,  makes  difficulties. 
Faust  calls  him  the  father  of  impediments ; Mephisto- 
pheles replies  that  he  has  really  no  power  over  the 
special  Hades  of  antiquity  which  holds  Paris  and 
Helena.  Yet,  he  says,  there  is  a way.  He  refers 
Faust  to  the  “Mothers.”  These  are  supernatural 
beings,  the  reference  to  whom  Goethe  is  said  to  have 
had  suggested  to  him  in  reading  Plutarch,  and  he 
appears  to  have  seized  on  the  notion  of  them  as  typical 
of  the  unfathomable  origin  of  all  forms,  and  particu- 
larly of  the  origin  of  an  ideal  of  beauty  for  the  poet 
and  the  artist  more  real  than  the  most  perfect 
work  of  nature.  He  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Mephisto- 
pheles a description  of  them  as  “ unreachable  and 
unbeseechable.”  Faust  is  deeply  affected  and 
shudders.  Mephistopheles  places  in  his  hand  a 
little  key,  which  begins  to  increase  in  size  and  to 
glow.  He  feels  himself  inspired,  and  as  if  escaping 
“ from  the  created  to  shapeless  forms  in  liberated 
spaces.”  Following  the  directions  given  to  him  he 
lets  himself  be  sunk  into  space,  and  descends  until 
he  sees  a blazing  tripod.  This  he  touches  with  the 
key,  and  it  follows  him.  He  has  been  told  that 
the  tripod,  when  brought  to  earth  from  its  place 
near  the  Mothers,  will  transform  the  incense-mist 
that  surrounds  it  into  such' gods  as  he  may  call  for. 

In  the  sixth  and  seventh  scenes  the  Court  is 
again  assembled  in  the  halls  of  the  palace  and  is 
full  of  expectation.  There  is  a stage,  sitting  in 
front  of  which  Mephistopheles  acts  as  prompter. 
The  Court  astrologer  explains  to  the  audience  the 
nature  of  a Greek  temple  which  covers  the  stage. 
Faust  rises  into  view  on  its  floor  and  invokes  the 
aid  of  the  Mothers.  Paris  appears  in  the  temple 
and  is  presently  followed  by  Helena.  The  audience 
is  much  impressed,  but  the  ladies  are  critical  of 
Helena.  Paris  sleeps,  and  Helena  bends  over  and 


PARIS  AND  HELENA 


757 


kisses  him,  to  their  indignation.  Faust,  trans- 
ported by  passion,  becomes  madly  jealous,  to  the 
concern  of  Mephistopheles.  Paris  awakens,  and 
rising  clasps  Helena  in  his  arms  and  begins  to  carry 
her  away.  Faust,  unable  to  restrain  himself,  again 
appeals  to  the  Mothers,  and  tries  to  seize  ^Helena 
from  the  arms  of  Paris,  turning  his  key  against 
him.  There  is  an  explosion.  Faust  is  left  sense- 
less on  the  ground  and  the  spirits  dissolve  in  vapour. 
Mephistopheles  takes  Faust  upon  his  shoulders  and 
disappears  into  darkness. 

Thus  ends  the  introductory  phase  of  the  pre- 
liminary Helena  scene.  So  far  Goethe  has  gone 
little  further  than  Marlowe  in  bringing  in  Helena 
by  way  of  illustration.  But  presently,  in  Act  III., 
we  shall  see  that  he  gives  her  a great  place  in  the 
poem.  This  whs  not  necessary  for  its  development. 
But  we  know  that  Goethe  was  from  time  to  time 
so  deeply  under  the  influence  of  Greek  art  that  he 
could  think  of  little  else.  It  was  in  such  a mood 
that  he  appears  originally  to  have  written  the  main 
part  of  the  Helena,  as  a separate  piece,  which  he 
afterwards  introduces  into  Part  II. 

Act  II.  now  opens  in  the  liigh-arched  narrow 
Gothic  chamber  which  was  formerly  Faust’s  study. 
He  is  lying  on  a bed  in  a space  curtained  off  from 
the  study.  Mephistopheles  is  by,  and  is  looking  at 
the  objects  around,  still  undisturbed,  which  recall 
the  interview  in  Part  I.  at  which  Faust  signed  the 
compact  with  him.  The  pen  is  still  there,  with 
traces  of  Faust’s  blood  upon  it.  An  old  fur  robe 
hangs  from  a hook,  and  when  Mephistopheles 
shakes  the  robe  a swarm  of  insects  fly  out  and  welcome 
their  patron  in  chorus.  He  puts  on  the  robe.  A 
famulus,  the  attendant  of  Doctor  Wagner  who  is 
now  in  possession,  appears  on  the  scene,  and  on 
seeing  a strange  figure  in  Faust’s  old  robe  is  terrified. 
He  explains  to  Mephistopheles  that  Wagner  has  kept 
the  study  as  it  was,  in  the  hope  that  his  master, 
Faust,  would  some  day  return,  Mephistopheles 


758 


FA  UST — SECOND  PART 


demands  to  see  Wagner,  but  the  famulus  explains 
that  Wagner  is  immersed  in  carrying  out  a tre- 
mendous experiment.  Mephistopheles  sends  the 
famulus  to  fetch  him.  While  he  is  gone  on  this 
errand  a Bacealaureus,  or  senior  student,  enters. 
He  is  full  of  self-conceit.  He  sees  the  figure  seated 
in  a chair  and  addresses  it,  recalling  that  he  is  the 
same  student  who  had  come  to  that  room  to  inter- 
view his  teacher  a long  time  before.  But  he  adds 
that  he  has  outgrown  his  old  order  of  thought  and 
is  now  quite  a different  man.  Mephistopheles  pro- 
ceeds to  flatter  him,  but  the  Bacealaureus  grows 
worse,  instead  of  becoming  modest.  The  old  ideas 
belong  to  the  past.  Goethe  puts  into  his  mouth 
an  exaggerated  version  of  the  least  restrained  utter- 
ances of  the  subjective  Idealists  who  at  that  time 
were  exaggerating  the  doctrine  of  Fichte.  The 
student  speaks  in  the  language  of  Fichteanism  gone 
mad,  and  identifies  the  activity  of  his  own  conscious- 
ness with  the  creation  of  the  universe.  Goethe,  who 
hated  metaphj-sics,  especially  of  this  order,  now 
does  what  happens  at  times  in  the  course  of  both 
parts  of  the  poem.  He  uses  Mephistopheles  as  his 
vehicle  of  expression.  He  makes  him  laugh  at  the 
student’s  claim  to  have  discovered  truth,  and  s » s 
aloud : — 

Who  can  think  wise  or  stupid  things  at  all, 

That  were  not  thought  already  in  the  past  ? ” 

In  the  second  scene  of  Act  II.  we  find  Wagner  at 
his  furnace  in  the  expectation  that  he  has  discovered 
a new  method  of  bringing  about  life  by  mechanical 
means,  which  will  render  its  generation  by  the 
sexes  an  unnecessary  process.  The  secret  is  a 
process  of  crystallization  in  a closed  retort.  Wagner 
believes  that  a man  can  be  thus  produced,  and  Goethe 
makes  this  a fine  occasion  for  Mephistopheles  to  play 
pranks  on  the  innocent  pedant.  For  Mephistopheles 
enters  the  laboratory,  making  Wagner  nervous  by 
his  intrusion,  but  with  the  result  that  a glass  phial  in 


HOMUNCULUS  759 

a crucible  vibrates  and  gives  forth  sound.  Presently 
there  appears,  enclosed  in  it,  a manikin,  the  Homun- 
culus, who  greets  Mephistopheles  as  “ cousin,”  and 
expresses  a desire  to  begin  to  work  with  him  at  once. 
A side  door  opens  now  and  reveals  Faust  stretched 
on  his  couch.  The  phial  slips  out  of  Wagner’s  hands 
and  hovers  over  Faust.  Homunculus  warns  Mephi- 
stopheles that  if  Faust  awakens  there  he  will  die, 
and  that  he  must  be  removed  to  other  surroundings. 
He  adds  that  this  is  the  eve  of  the  Classical  Walpurgis- 
night,  and  that  in  its  atmosphere  and  its  scenery 
Faust  might  be  restored.  Mephistopheles,  who 
knows  only  the  spirit  world  of  the  North,  is  puzzled, 
and  is  not  reassured  when  he  is  told  that  the 
journey  must  be  to  Greece,  to  the  plain  through 
which  the  Peneus  flows.  However,  he  complies 
with  the  bidding  of  Homunculus  that  he  should 
throw  over  Faust  his  magic  mantle,  and  follow 
Homunculus  who  will  show  the  way.  The  wretched 
Wagner  is  left  behind  in  solitude. 

We  now  come  to  the  famous  third  scene,  that  of 
the  Classical  Walpurgis-night.  To  describe  it  in  any 
detail  is  impracticable.  It  opens  in  the  Pharsalian 
Fields  with  a prologue  from  the  spectral  form  of 
Erichtho,  “ the  gloomy  one,”  who,  however,  with- 
draws on  the  approach  of  the  living.  Faust  is 
revived  and  called  to  fresh  life  by  touching  Grecian 
soil,  and  he  and  his  two  companions  begin  to  look 
around.  At  once  he  begins  to  long  for  Helena. 
But  he  finds  around  him  only  Griffins  and  other 
unfamiliar  creatures,  including  Sphinxes.  With  the 
last  Mephistopheles  exchanges  greetings,  but  on  both 
sides  they  find  themselves  strange,  and  proceed  to 
make  inquiries  of  each  other.  To  try  to  describe 
the  scene  and  its  changes  would  be  useless.  Goethe 
is  here  not  didactic.  He  lets  his  imagination  run 
riot.  Apparently  his  only  definite  purpose  is  to 
bring  together  Classic  and  Romantic  ideas,  and  to 
show  us  Faust  impelled  by  Greek  imagination  towards 
a higher  level  in  the  development  of  new  forms 


760  FA  UST — SECOND  PART 

of  beauty.  It  is  at  this  point  that  the  significance 
for  the  poem  of  the  introduction  of  Helena  appears. 
Marlowe  also  brought  in  Helena,  but  with  no  definite 
purpose  like  this.  With  him  Faust  was  not  to  be 
redeemed.  With  Goethe,  too,  Faust  is  not  to  be 
saved  by  a redeemer  who  is  independent  of  him, 
but  he  is  to  redeem  himself  by  working  out  his  own 
deliverance  from  his  lower  nature ; first  by  the 
awakening  of  love  for  the  beautiful,  and  then  by 
the  choice  of  unselfish  and  altruistic  ends  as  the 
highest  bliss  of  life.  The  First  Part  of  course  con- 
tained a Walpurgis-night.  There  the  scene  is  Gothic 
and  mediaeval  and  leads  to  nothing.  Here  the  Classical 
Walpurgis-night  is  the  introduction  to  the  Helena , 
which  was  written  before  it,  and  is  a poem  complete 
in  itself,  which  does  not  arise  out  of  the  drama 
Goethe  unfolds,  but  is  rather  an  excrescence  on  its 
form. 

The  first  sketch  of  the  Classical  Walpurgis-night 
was  apparently  begun  as  early  as  1800,  but  it 
remained  a mere  sketch  until  1830,  and  wras  only 
finished  in  Goethe’s  eightj-first  year.  He  himself 
spoke  of  it  as  an  ascending  slope  on  which  the 
reader  is  to  rise  gradually  to  the  Helena.  The  idea 
of  the  beautiful  is  only  intermittently  developed  in 
it,  for  the  disturbing  presence  of  Mephistopheles,  the 
“ Being  that  denies,”  is  required  by  the  scheme  of 
the  narrative.  Several  of  the  many  commentators 
on  the  poem  have  said  that  the  key  to  the  develop- 
ment is  “ Homunculus,”  whom  Goethe  seems  to 
represent  as  the  figurative  embodiment  of  the  nascent 
new  life  which  has  entered  into  Faust  himself. 
Freedom  of  Spirit  wras  for  him  among  the  great 
possibilities  of  humanity,  and  he  found  it  embody 
itself  in  its  most  perfect  form  in  Greek  Art.  “ Let 
each  one,”  he  said,  “ be  a Grecian  in  his  own  way  ; 
but  let  him  be  one.” 

When  in  the  Walpurgis-night  scene  the  travellers 
alighted  from  their  journey  through  the  air,  the 
touch  of  the  soil  of  ancient  Greece  restored  Faust 


THE  CLASSICAL  WALPURGIS-NIGHT  761 

to  the  full  possession  of  his  faculties.  His  first 
question  on  awakening  was,  “ Where  is  Helena  ? ” 
He  appeals  to  the  Sphinxes,  who  tell  him  that  she 
lived  after  their  line  had  expired,  but  that  when 
Chiron  comes  galloping  round,  which  he  will  do  in 
the  course  of  this  ghostly  night,  he  may  consent  to 
take  Faust  with  him  to  seek  her.  A little  later, 
after  Faust  has  stood  by  the  river  and  spoken  with 
the  nymphs  who  try  to  detain  him,  the  sound  of 
hoofs  is  heard  and  Chiron  appears.  He  consents  to 
take  Faust  along  with  him.  He  brings  him  to  the 
temple  of  Manto,  who  shows  him  a way  under 
Olympus  to  the  presence  of  Persephone. 

In  the  rest  of  Act  II.  Faust  does  not  reappear, 
but  the  two  scenes  which  conclude  it  describe  the 
experiences  of  Homunculus  and  Mephistopheles  in 
the  region  of  the  upper  Peneus  and  by  the  seashore. 
Mephistopheles  continues  to  find  himself  unfamiliar 
with  what  he  encounters  in  this  spirit-world  of 
antiquity  ; Homunculus  is  more  at  home. 

But  we  now  pass  from  them,  to  see  the  develop- 
ment of  a new  Act.  This  is  the  famous  Act  III. 
which  opens  in  Sparta,  in  the  palace  of  the  husband 
of  Helena.  He  is  Menelaus,  and  is  not  himself  present, 
but  he  has  sent  his  wife,  rescued  from  his  enemies,  to 
the  palace,  to  make  preparations  for  his  return,  and  to 
prepare  for  a solemn  sacrifice.  What  the  character  of 
this  is  to  be  she  does  not  know,  and  from  the  manner 
of  Menelaus  on  board  the  Spartan  ship  of  war 
in  which  he  brought  her  back  from  Troy,  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  rival  who  had  abducted  her  and  whom 
he  has  disposed  of,  she  is  not  without  anxiety. 
However,  his  injunction  to  her  was  to  inspect  her 
palace  and  see  that  everything  was  in  order,  and 
this  she  proceeds  to  do.  She  herself  is  accompanied 
by  a Chorus  of  captive  Trojan  maidens  who  were 
brought  away  with  her.  They  are  all  in  reality 
but  shades  summoned  from  Hades,  whither  indeed 
they  really  went  three  thousand  years  before  the 
days  of  Faust,  but  of  this  lapse  of  time  they  are 


762  FA  UST — SECOND  PART 

unconscious  and  they  behave  as  denizens  of  the 
modern  earth.  Helena  goes  into  the  palace  to  see 
that  all  is  in  order,  but  returns  frightened.  For  she 
has  encountered  there  the  spectral  figure  of  Phorkyas, 
whom  at  first  she  took  to  be  the  stewardess  of  the 
palace,  but  who  has  turned  out  to  be  a strange  and 
terrible  old  woman.  The  latter  now  appears  in  the 
doorway  before  Helena  and  the  Chorus,  and  delivers 
to  them  a gloomy  and  contemptuous  exhortation. 
She  upbraids  them  for  their  wanton  past.  They 
cry  out  against  her  appearance  and  manner  towards 
them.  Phorkyas  abuses  Helena  and  predicts  for  her 
death  from  the  axe  as  the  victim  of  her  husband, 
Menelaus.  The  Chorus,  she  hints,  will  all  be  hanged. 
At  her  bidding  dwarfs  appear  and  bring  forward 
the  apparatus  of  sacrifice  and  death.  Phorkyas 
now  suggests  that  there  is  still  a chance  of  escape. 
There  is,  north  of  Sparta,  a tower  where  a daring 
and  powerful  race  are  governed  by  their  master, 
one  who  is  not  a Greek,  but  is  still  a most  attractive 
as  well  as  powerful  ruler.  She  will  transport  Helena 
and  her  Chorus  to  that  tower  if  they  wish.  The 
trumpets  of  the  approaching  forces  of  Menelaus  sound 
in  the  distance.  This  decides  Helena,  who  assents. 
A mist  rises  and  the  whole  party  is  swept  through  the 
air,  and  finds  itself  in  the  courtyard  of  a castle  of 
the  period,  not  of  ancient  Greece,  but  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  Beautiful  boys  appear  to  welcome  Helena. 
Finally  Faust  is  seen,  in  the  costume  of  a knight  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  at  the  head  of  a staircase.  Phorkyas 
has  disappeared.  Faust  brings  with  him  in  fetters 
Lynceus,  a watchman,  whom  he  has  condemned 
to  death  for  failing  to  observe  and  notify  Helena’s 
approach,  but  Helena  asks  for  and  obtains  his 
pardon.  By  Faust’s  desire  she  assumes  Faust’s 
throne.  She  then  invites  him  to  occupy  it  as  its 
lord  and  hers.  They  are  now  lovers.  But  their 
transports  are  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance 
of  Phorkyas,  who  announces  that  Menelaus  with  his 
legions  is  storming  after  them  over  the  plain.  Faust 


THE  HELENA  763 

only  laughs.  For  at  his  bidding  powerful  forces 
immediately  assemble  to  drive  back  Menelaus.  Faust 
gives  his  orders  to  the  commanders.  The  scene  now 
changes.  All  is  tranquil.  The  maidens  of  the  Chorus 
are  happy  in  woodland  surroundings.  Time  has 
elapsed.  We  have  passed  to  another  period.  Even 
Phorkyas,  who  reappears,  expresses  the  new  feeling 
and  its  harmony : — 

Hark  ! the  music,  pure  and  golden, 

Free  from  fables  be  at  last ! 

All  your  Gods,  the  medley  olden, 

Let  depart ! their  day  is  past. 

You  no  more  are  comprehended  ; 

We  require  a higher  part, 

By  the  heart  must  be  expended 
What  shall  work  upon  the  heart. 

Helena  and  Faust  after  an  interval  reappear. 
They  now  have  a son,  who  is  grown  to  manhood, 
Euphorion.  He  is  full  of  energy.  He  goes  about 
everywhere.  Presently  he  clasps  in  his  arms  one 
of  the  maidens  of  the  Chorus.  But  she  turns  to 
flame  in  his  embrace,  and  dares  him  to  follow  her  to 
the  upper  air.  He  mounts  the  rocks.  The  one> 
thing  that  it  has  been  foretold  he  must  not  do  is  to 
try  to  fly.  But  this  he  insists  on  doing,  casting 
himself  from  the  heights  above.  He  is  sustained 
for  a moment  by  his  garments,  and  then  falls  dead 
at  the  feet  of  his  parents.  But  his  voice  sounds  from 
the  depths  of  the  nether  regions,  bidding  his  mother 
not  to  leave  him  there  solitary.  She  invokes 
Persephone,  embraces  Faust,  and  disappears  into 
Hades  leaving  only  her  veil  in  his  arms. 

Phorkyas  again  appears  and  bids  Faust  hold  fast 
to  the  veil: — 

For  thy  use  employ 
The  grand  and  priceless  gift,  and  soar  aloft. 

’Twill  bear  thee  swift  from  all  things  mean  and  low 
To  ether  high,  so  long  thou  canst  endure. 

We’ll  meet  again,  far,  very  far  from  here. 

Faust  then  vanishes  borne  aloft  on  Helena’s  veil. 


764  FA  UST — SECOND  PART 

The  story  of  Act  III.  has  now  been  described  in 
its  bare  outline.  The  whole  of  its  events  owe  their 
production  to  Mephistopheles,  who  is  operating  under 
the  disguise  of  Phorkyas.  The  story  in  itself 
amounts  to  very  little.  It  is  only  a means  of  expres- 
sion. Goethe  was  before  everything  a thinker.  But 
instead  of  putting  his  thoughts  into  abstract  proposi- 
tions after  the  fashion  of  the  philosophers,  his  way 
was,  as  already  observed,  to  embody  them  in 
imaginative  forms.  He  thinks  in  images,  but  in 
images  which  are  the  expressions  of  a system  of 
definite  and  comprehensive  conclusions  about  God 
and  man.  He  believed  that  in  imaginative  range 
the  Greeks  had  possessed  the  highest  order  of  gifts, 
but  he  also  knew  that  in  the  nineteenth  century 
humanity  had  to  assimilate  experience  and  science 
such  as  had  never  taken  root  on  Greek  soil.  His 
endeavour  was  therefore  to  bring  the  form  and 
quality  of  Greek  Art  into  combination  with  the 
modern  criticism  of  life.  It  was  a daring  effort, 
and  opinion  is  likely  to  remain  divided  as  to  the 
extent  of  the  success  which  Goethe  attained  in  making 
it.  What  is  certain  is  that  for  a mind  less  large 
than  his  and  with  less  range,  complete  failure  would 
have  been  inevitable.  But  Goethe’s  mind  and  its 
range  were  alike  probably  beyond  anything  the  world 
has  seen  since  Aristotle,  and  he  knew  what  he  was 
doing  even  when  he  was  t lying  to  attain  to  the 
unattainable. 

The  bare  outline  of  the  tragedy  of  Helena  here 
given  has  been  sketched  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
helping  the  reader  to  follow  the  story.  In  itself  this- 
records  no  important  events.  What  is  really  im- 
portant is  the  wealth  of  imaginative  imagery  which 
Goethe  bestows  on  it.  He  tries  to  become  in  spirit  a 
Greek,  and  the  effort  is  probably  as  successful  as  is 
possible  for  a modern.  Still  it  is  a German  and  not  a 
Greek  who  is  the  artist.  Some  readers  will  be  oppressed 
by  constantly  finding  themselves  reminded  of  this. 
Others  will  be  reconciled  to  what  may  seem  to  them 


AS  A WORK  OF  ART  765 

little  more  than  a wonderful  tour  de  force,  by  the 
largeness  of  conception  that  is  apparent  in  the  drama. 

Of  the  quality  of  the  verse  no  English  translation 
can  give  any  real  idea.  Carlyle’s  is  perhaps  the 
least  unsuccessful.  Bayard  Taylor’s  careful  version 
has  been  used  freely  in  the  citations  I have  made. 
But  it  is  to  the  German  original  that  the  student 
must  go,  if  he  is  to  grasp  the  significance  of  this 
poem,  or  the  magnitude  of  the  endeavour  which 
Goethe  has  made  to  put  new  wine  into  old  bottles. 
Whether  the  poet  has  succeeded  remains  question- 
able. What  is  certain  is  that  we  have  before  us  an 
attempt  by  a man  of  genius  of  the  highest  order  to 
combine  Classical  form  with  Romantic  and  even 
Nineteenth  Century  substance. 

It  is  indeed  not  surprising  that  in  reading  the 
Helena  we  have  always  to  be  attentive  to  so  many 
aspects  of  the  theme  that  the  task  is  at  times  over- 
powering. First  of  all,  there  is  the  effort  at  com- 
bination of  form  with  substance  belonging  to  a 
different  age,  to  which  reference  has  just  been  made. 
Then  there  is  the  antithesis  between  the  way  of 
thinking  of  Faust,  a modern  of  the  highest  attain- 
ments, and  that  of  Helena,  a type  of  completely  Greek 
womanhood.  We  feel  that  the  gods  of  Greece  are 
here  pronounced  to  be  superseded  even  when  we 
are  made  to  feel  the  actual  contact  of  their  presence. 
Finally,  there  is  the  fact  that  it  is  only  by  means  of 
symbolic  representation  and  suggestion  that  the  gulf 
is  spanned. 

Wholly  satisfactory  as  works  of  art,  therefore, 
neither  the  Helena  nor  the  Classical  Walpurgis-night 
can  be.  But  they  are  not  the  less  very  great  works 
of  art,  for  they  have  been  called  into  existence  by 
the  concentration  of  his  genius  on  the  part  of  a 
poet  of  the  widest  knowledge  and  experience 
of  life.  If  classicism,  romanticism  and  modern 
thought  could  be  combined  thus,  it  was  he  alone 
who  had  the  endowments  which  warranted  the 
attempt.  But  the  result  could  hardly  be  a poem 


766  FAUST— SECOND  PART 

perfect  in  integrity  and  smoothness,  and  it  is  not 
so.  We  have  before  us  rather  a collection  of  frag- 
ments in  this  part  of  Faust.  Modern  ideas  are 
always  being  intruded  in  ancient  settings.  Although 
Carlyle  doubted  it,  when  writing  in  1828,  it  is  now 
tolerably  clear  from  the  testimony  of  Eckermann 
that  Goethe  had  Byron  before  his  mind  when 
writing  the  Helena.  He  admired  the  “ daemonic  ” 
factor  in  him.  He  would  have  accepted  Matthew 
Arnold’s  estimate  of  Byron  as  “ the  greatest  elemental 
power  in  English  literature  since  Shakespeare.”  Of 
Byron  Goethe  said  that  “ with  all  his  boundless 
freedom  he  felt  himself  oppressed  ; the  world  was 
for  him  a prison.  His  going  to  Greece  was  not  a 
spontaneous  resolution  ; he  was  driven  to  it  through 
his  false  relation  to  the  world,”  There  is  not  much 
room  for  doubt  that  in  the  image  of  Euphorion 
Goethe  meant  to  symbolize  this  element  in  Byron’s 
genius. 

The  reader  who  wishes  to  realize  the  range  and 
greatness  of  thought  in  the  Helena  must  for  this  and 
analogous  reasons  study  it  for  himself.  He  will 
probably  find  a good  deal  that  is  repugnant  to  him. 
But  the  effort  to  assimilate  this  part  of  Faust  is 
well  worth  the  pain  of  making,  not  only  for  the 
wonderful  richness  in  comprehension  with  which 
Goethe  reproduces  the  form  of  Greek  traged}7,  but 
for  the  philosophy  of  life  which  underlies  the  symbols 
he  uses.  If  the  reader  wishes  for  a guide  in  making 
the  attempt,  he  cannot  do  better  than  turn  to  the 
Essay  on  the  Helena  published  by  Carlyle  originally 
in  1828  in  the  Foreign  Review,  and  reprinted  in 
Volume  I.  of  the  Miscellaneous  Essays  in  his  collected 
works. 

From  this  Essay  it  is  permissible  to  quote,  in 
order  to  show  that,  by  the  testimony  of  Goethe 
himself,  the  interpretation  of  this  part  of  Faust 
just  indicated  is  not  unwarranted,  the  following 
extract  from  a translation  which  Carlyle  gives  in  the 
Essay  referred  to.  It  is  a rendering  of  what  Goethe 


GOETHE  ON  THE  HELENA  767 

wrote  in  1827  in  his  journal  Kunst  und  Alterthum 
on  the  Helena  as  an  Interlude  in  the  Faust  which  was 
appearing  then  from  time  to  time  in  parts. 

“ Faust’s  character,  in  the  elevation  to  which 
later  refinement,  working  on  the  old  rude  tradition, 
has  raised  it,  represents  a man  who,  feeling  impatient 
and  imprisoned  within  the  limits  of  mere  earthly- 
existence,  regards  the  possession  of  the  highest 
knowledge,  the  enjoyment  of  the  fairest  blessings, 
as  insufficient  even  in  the  slightest  degree  to 
satisfy  his  longing ; a spirit,  accordingly,  which, 
struggling  out  on  all  sides,  ever  returns  the  more 
unhappy. 

“ This  form  of  mind  is  so  accordant  with  our 
modern  disposition,  that  various  persons  of  ability 
have  been  induced  to  undertake  the  treatment  of 
such  a subject.  My  manner  of  attempting  it 
obtained  approval : distinguished  men  considered 
the  matter,  and  commented  on  my  performance  ; 
all  which  I thankfully  observed.  At  the  same  time 
I could  not  but  wonder  that  none  of  those  who  under- 
took a continuation  and  completion  of  my  Fragment 
had  lighted  on  the  thought,  which  seemed  so  obvious, 
that  the  composition  of  a Second  Part  must  neces- 
sarily elevate  itself  altogether  away  from  the  hampered 
sphere  of  the  First,  and  conduct  a man  of  such  a 
nature  into  higher  regions,  under  worthier  conditions. 

“ How  I,  for  my  part,  had  determined  to  essay 
this,  lay  silently  before  my  own  mind,  from  time 
to  time  exciting  me  to  some  progress ; while,  from 
all  and  each,  I carefully  guarded  my  secret,  still  in 
hope  of  bringing  the  work  to  the  wished-for  issue. 
Now,  however,  I must  no  longer  keep  back ; or, 
in  publishing  my  collective  endeavours,  conceal  any 
further  secrets  from  the  world ; to  which,  on  the 
contrary,  I feel  myself  bound  to  submit  my  whole 
labours,  even  though  in  a fragmentary  state. 

“ Accordingly,  I have  resolved  that  the  above- 
named  piece,  a smaller  drama,  complete  within 
itself,  but  pertaining  to  the  Second  Part  of  Faust , 


768  FAUST—  SECOND  PART 

shall  be  forthwith  presented  in  the  first  portion  of 
my  works. 

“ The  wide  chasm  between  that  well-known 
dolorous  conclusion  of  the  First  Part,  and  the  entrance 
of  an  antique  Grecian  heroine,  is  not  yet  over-arched  ; 
meanwhile,  as  a preamble,  my  readers  will  accept 
what  follows. 

“ The  old  legend  tells  us,  and  the  puppet  play 
fails  not  to  introduce  the  scene,  that  Faust,  in  his 
imperious  pride  of  heart,  requiredfrom  Mephistopheles 
the  love  of  the  fair  Helena  of  Greece  ; in  which 
demand  the  other,  after  some  reluctance,  gratified 
him.  Not  to  overlook  so  important  a concern  in 
our  work  was  a duty  for  us  ; and  how  we  have 
endeavoured  to  discharge  it  will  be  seen  in  this 
Interlude.  But  what  may  have  furnished  the  proxi- 
mate occasion  of  such  an  occurrence,  and  how,  after 
manifold  hindrances,  our  old  magical  Craftsman  can 
have  found  means  to  bring  back  the  individual 
Helena  in  person  out  of  Orcus  into  life,  must,  in  this 
stage  of  the  business,  remain  undiscovered.  For  the 
present  it  is  enough  if  the  reader  will  admit  that  the 
real  Helena  may  step  forth,  on  antique  tragedy- 
Cothurnus,  before  her  primitive  abode  in  Sparta. 
We  then  request  him  to  observe  in  what  way  and 
manner  Faust  will  presume  to  court  favour  from  this 
royal  all-famous  beauty  of  the  world.” 

In  the  Second  Part  we  have  thus,  as  Goethe 
himself  tells  us,  the  mind  of  Faust  expanded  to 
wider  ranges  of  thought  and  feeling  than  in  the 
First  Part.  There  he  had  got  back  youth,  and  with 
it  the  limitations  which  lack  of  experience  imposes 
on  youth.  Here  we  have  the  man  matured,  caring 
no  longer  for  what  merely  pertains  to  him  individu- 
ally. His  first  effort  is  to  enlarge  his  outlook  by 
directing  it  to  the  highest  level  that  Greek  Art  had 
produced  in  the  region  of  the  beautiful.  His  desire 
for  union  with  Queen  Helena  is  the  symbol  of  this. 
The  surroundings,  too,  which  Goethe  bestows  on 
Faust  in  this  period  are  representative  of  what  was 


GEOLOGICAL  THEORIES  769 

unique  in  the  Greek  drama.  But  no  mere  increase 
in  the  kind  of  pleasure  and  sense  of  well-being 
that  attracted  the  youthful  Faust  could  now  suffice 
for  the  Faust  of  mature  years.  Why  this  should 
have  become  so  we  shall  see  as  we  cease  to 
linger  over  the  Helena,  and  pass,  as  we  now  must, 
to  Act  IV. 

A cloud  settles  on  a rocky  mountain.  Faust 
steps  forth  from  this  cloud.  He  is  lost  in  reflection 
on  the  beauty  of  the  scene  that  surrounds  him,  when 
Mephistopheles  appears,  and  begins  to  express  aver- 
sion to  the  jagged  mountain  tops  which,  he  declares, 
remind  him  of  hell,  where  he  has  got  to  know  their 
volcanic  genesis  through  intense  heat.  Faust  laughs 
at  him.  For  Faust,  the  mountain  tops  belong 
to  the  perfection  of  nature’s  work,  which  would  be 
incomplete  without  them.  The  discussion  is  symbolic 
of  Goethe’s  own  attitude  towards  current  geological 
theory,  and  the  insistence  of  Mephistopheles  on 
volcanic  convulsions  as  a Plutonic  explanation  of  all 
the  phenomena  around  him,  makes  Faust  say  : — 

Well — ’tis  remarkable  and  new, 

To  note  how  devils  Nature  view. 

Mephistopheles  declares  that  it  does  not  matter, 
though  he  holds  to  the  opinion  that  the  jagged 
peaks  were  cast  up  by  Satanic  power.  But,  however 
that  may  be,  he  appeals  to  Faust  to  say  whether  the 
magnificent  view  he  now  has  of  the  glory  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  world  does  not  make  him  desire 
power  over  it.  Faust  says  that  it  does,  but  challenges 
him  to  divine  the  true  nature  of  his  desire.  Mephi- 
stopheles suggests  the  building  of  a great  city,  where 
the  people  would  crowd  round  and  honour  Faust, 
who  would  five  in  a castle  built  in  glorious  surround- 
ings, with  fair  women  for  his  companions.  Faust 
smiles  contemptuously  at  the  devil,  who,  somewhat 
annoyed,  asks  him  whether  he  wants  to  possess  the 
moon.  No,  replies  the  other,  this  sphere  of  earthly 
toil  gives  him  room,  quite  enough  room,  for  lofty 
VOL.  II.  2 B 


770 


FAUST — SECOND  PART 

deeds,  and  in  these  what  is  accomplished  is  in  itself 
everything,  and  the  glory  nothing.  Mephistopheles 
suggests  that  at  least  the  poets  will  in  such  mere 
possession  of  power  and  riches  as  he  has  suggested, 
proclaim  Faust’s  fame.  But  the  latter  sneeringly 
replies  : — 

All  that  is  far  beyond  thy  reach, 

How  canst  thou  know  what  men  beseech  ? 

Thy  cross-grained  self,  in  malice  banned, 

How  can  it  know  what  men  demand  ? 

Mephistopheles  gives  up  the  controversy,  and 
expresses  his  willingness  to  accomplish  whatever 
Faust  desires  of  him.  Faust  then  says  that  he  has 
conceived  the  idea  of  shutting  out  the  sea  from  the 
part  of  the  shore  over  which  its  tides  and  waves  are 
dashing,  and  of  so  getting  the  security  from  its 
destructive  power  which  the  higher  land  has.  Mephi- 
stopheles accepts  this  task,  and  tells  Faust  that  an 
opportunity  of  getting  possession  of  the  necessary 
shores  will  shortly  arise.  There  are  sounds  of  martial 
music.  He  draws  Faust’s  attention  to  them.  The 
latter  shakes  his  head,  “ Who’s  wise  likes  not  to  hear 
of  coming  war.”  His  companion  then  explains  to 
him  what  has  happened.  The  Emperor  of  Germany, 
carried  away  by  the  profusion  of  the  paper  money 
with  which  they  had  supplied  him  on  the  earlier 
occasion,  had  given  himself  up  to  pleasure  and  had 
let  his  system  of  government  drift  accordingly.  A 
great  error,  observes  Faust,  for  it  is  only  in  governing 
to  the  highest  of  the  ruler’s  ability,  and  in  making 
good  government  an  end  in  itself,  that  happiness 
can  be  earned  by  him.  Mephistopheles  explains 
that  this  is  just  what  the  Emperor  did  not  do,  and 
that  his  kingdom  has  fallen  into  anarchy.  A party 
has  arisen  which  demands  his  deposition  in  favour 
of  a new  Emperor  who  will  give  to  the  country 
tranquillity.  Rebellion  was  organized  and  has  resulted 
in  civil  war.  A battle  is  impending  between  the 
forces  of  the  old  and  the  new  Emperors.  If  Faust 
will  agree  he,  Mephistopheles,  will  bring  victory  to 


A FINAL  TASK 


771 

the  old  Emperor,  and  the  reward  for  this  assistance 
will  be  a grant  to  Faust  of  the  seashores  which  he 
needs  for  his  new  plan. 

In  the  second  scene  the  Emperor,  after  being 
nearly  defeated,  is  rescued  by  the  magical  reinforce- 
ments and  operations  which  Mephistopheles  has 
brought  to  his  aid.  But  in  the  third  scene  the  joy 
of  the  Emperor  is  marred  by  the  advent  of  his 
Archbishop,  who  reproaches  him  for  having  accepted 
assistance  from  Satan,  and  explains  that  nothing- 
can  wash  out  this  stain  of  sin  excepting  a grant  of 
land  on  a very  large  scale  to  the  Church.  The 
Emperor  assents,  but  somewhat  sadly.  The  Arch- 
bishop, however,  complains  that  he  has  discovered 
that  part  of  the  land  which  the  Emperor  is  ready 
to  promise  to  the  Church  has  already  been  bestowed 
on  the  notorious  Faust,  namely  the  coast.  But  this, 
rejoins  the  Emperor,  is  not  anything  that  belongs 
to  the  land,  for  it  is  actually  covered  by  the  sea. 

In  Act  V.  we  find  the  culmination  of  the  entire 
story.  For  it  exhibits  the  attainment  of  the  goal 
of  what  is  the  highest  ideal  of  all  the  strivings  of 
Faust  through  the  periods,  not  only  of  Part  II., 
but  of  Part  I.  The  Act  opens  with  a minor  tragedy, 
minor  in  its  relation  to  the  rest  of  the  narrative,  but 
fraught  with  much  significance. 

An  old  couple  live  in  a little  house  with  a chapel 
by  it,  on  a hill  on  the  sea-border.  All  around  them, 
as  the  result  of  Faust’s  planning,  the  sea  has  been 
dammed  back  from  the  coast,  and  the  reclaimed  soil 
is  inhabited  by  a contented  people,  who  are  secure 
if,  but  only  if,  thej^  daily  watch  the  dams  that  have 
been  constructed,  and  keep  them  in  careful  repair. 
But  the  best  outlook  on  their  work  is  to  be  had 
from  the  little  hill  which  is  occupied  by  the  old 
couple,  and  Faust  is  consumed  by  the  desire  to  acquire 
it  as  a place  for  observation.  He  tries  to  induce 
them  to  move,  but  they  will  not  go.  Mephistopheles 
is,  of  course,  ready  with  a suggestion.  They  may  be 
transported  by  his  myrmidons  to  an  even  more 


772  FAUST— SECOND  PART 

pleasant  dwelling  without  their  being  aware  of  what 
has  been  done.  Faust  assents.  Mephistopheles  in- 
structs the  myrmidons.  They  proceed  to  try  to 
evict  the  old  people  and  a guest  they  have  with  them, 
and  to  pull  down  the  little  house.  The  latter  resist, 
the  house  takes  fire,  and  all  three  perish  in  the 
flames.  When  Faust  learns  of  this  he  is  heart- 
broken. He  had  intended  them  no  evil,  and  had 
believed  that  he  was  making  them  really  happier. 
His  palace  is  approached  in  the  darkness  by  four 
spectral  woman-forms,  Want,  Guilt,  Necessity,  and 
Care.  The  first  three  can  gain  no  entrance,  but  the 
fourth,  Care,  succeeds.  Faust  is  full  of  contrition. 
He  soliloquizes : — 

Not  yet  have  I my  liberty  made  good  ; 

If  I could  banish  magic’s  fell  creations, 

And  totally  unlearn  the  incantations, 

Stood  I,  oh  Nature,  man  alone  in  thee, 

Then  it  were  worth  one’s  while  a man  to  be. 

Ere  in  the  Obscure  I sought  it,  such  was  I, 

Ere  I had  coursed  the  world  so  wickedly. 

Care  threatens  him,  but  he  defies  her.  In  the 
result  she  breathes  in  his  face,  and  he  finds  himself 
blind.  He  has  attained  his  hundredth  year.  This 
is  a sufficient  expiation  for  the  deed,  done  with  a 
good  but  unjustifiable  intention,  and  his  spirit  is 
now  undaunted.  He  has  triumphed  : — 

The  night  seems  deeper  now  to  press  around  me, 

But  in  my  inmost  spirit  all  is  light, 

I rest  not  till  the  finished  work  has  crowned  me  ; 

God’s  word  alone  confers  on  me  the  might. 

He  bids  workmen  set  to  the  task  of  clearing  the  rest 
of  the  coast  without  delay  and  of  damming  back  the 
ocean.  Mephistopheles  summons  the  Lemures  from 
Hell,  and  instructs  them  to  dig,  not  the  trenches 
Faust  has  asked  for,  but  Faust’s  own  grave.  Faust 
bids  them  work  strenuously  at  the  reclaiming  of  the 
land,  and  accomplish  his  purpose  : — 

To  many  millions  let  me  furnish  soil, 

Though  not  secure,  yet  free  to  active  toil. 


THE  END 


773 


He  believes  that  this  is  being  accomplished,  and  he 
bursts  forth  in  what  prove  to  be  his  dying  words  : — 

Yes,  to  this  thought  I hold  with  firm  persistence, 

The  last  result  of  wisdom  stamps  it  true, 

He  only  gains  and  keeps  his  life  and  freedom, 

Who  daily  has  to  conquer  them  anew. 

Thus  here,  by  dangers  girt,  shall  glide  away, 

Of  childhood,  manhood,  age,  the  vigorous  day. 

And  such  a throng  I fain  would  see 
Stand  on  free  soil  among  a people  free. 

Then  dared  I hail  the  Moment  fleeting, 

Ah,  still  delay,  thou  art  so  fair. 

The  traces  cannot,  of  mine  earthly  being, 

In  aeons  perish — they  are  there, 

In  proud  forefeeling  of  such  lofty  bliss, 

I now  enjoy  the  highest  Moment — this. 

He  sinks  back,  dead.  Mephistoplieles  comes 
forward — “ It  is  finished.”  But  the  Chorus  exclaims, 
“It  is  past.”  “ Past ! ” rejoins  Mephistoplieles, 
“ a stupid  word,  why  past  ? ” 

He  summons  Hell  to  approach  and  seeks  to  seize 
the  dead  man’s  soul.  But  as  Hell  ascends,  Heaven 
descends.  A host  of  angels  shower  roses  on  the 
devils,  which  bum  and  drive  them  back  into  the  pit 
from  which  they  came.  The  angels  now  fill  the 
entire  space,  and  Mephistopheles,  cursing  them,  is 
himself  driven  back,  while  the  angels  bear  away  to 
Heaven  Faust’s  immortal  soul.  In  the  final  scene 
of  Act  V.  the  angels  declare  that  “ who’er  aspires 
unweariedly  is  not  past  redeeming,”  and  Faust 
presently  appears  above,  exclaiming  that  “ Free  is 
the  view  at  last,  the  spirit  lifted.”  He  is  greeted 
by  the  spirit  of  Gretchen,  like  himself  among  the 
redeemed,  and  the  tragedy  closes  with  a mystic 
chorus  which  no  translation  can  render  : — • 

Alles  Verganglicke 
1st  nur  ein  Gleicliniss. 

Das  Unzulangliche, 

Hier  wird’s  Ereigniss  ; 

Das  Unbeschreibliche 
Hier  ist  es  gethan  ; 

Das  Ewig-weiblicbe 
Zieht  uns  bin  an. 


774  FA  UST — SECOND  PART 

In  the  Second  Part  of  Faust  Goethe  reveals  him- 
self constantly,  but  much  less  directly  than  in  the 
First  Part.  As  the  outcome  of  this  the  Second  Part 
needs  closer  study.  But  the  study  repays  itself. 
For  it  discloses  to  the  patient  reader  the  wisdom  of 
the  great  critic  of  life,  of  an  old  man  full  of  insight, 
with  wide  views  about  the  nature  of  things,  and  of 
tremendous  individuality  and  consciousness  of  power. 
The  old  age  of  Goethe  has  left  its  traces  in  the 
difficulties  of  the  text,  and  in  the  tendency  to  an 
excess  of  symbolism.  Thus  the  poem  must  have  the 
close  study  which  it  necessitates  if  it  is  to  be  fully 
appreciated.  No  doubt  this  is  a drawback.  But  it 
is  impossible  to  accept  as  sufficient  the  judgment 
of  Mr.  Lewes,  who,  in  the  chapter  of  his  “ Life  of 
Goethe  ” which  he  devotes  to  the  Second  Part  of 
Faust,  finds  it  to  be  “ of  mediocre  interest,  very  far 
inferior  to  the  First  Part,  and  both  in  conception 
and  execution  an  elaborate  mistake.”  Carlyle,  in 
his  veneration  for  Goethe,  may  have  gone  too  far  in 
the  opposite  direction.  But  the  fact  seems  to 
remain,  as  one  beyond  dispute,  that  the  Goethe 
who  wrote  the  Second  Part  was  a Goethe  with  a 
larger  and  richer  mind  than  the  younger  Goethe 
who  wrote  the  First  Part.  The  poetry  as  poetry  is 
doubtless  more  full  of  defects.  There  is  what  may 
be  called  “ padding  ” even  in  the  First  Part,  and 
there  is  certainly  much  more  in  the  Second.  There 
is  little  or  no  “ padding  ” in  Shakespeare.  There  is 
much  in  Walter  Scott,  and  its  presence  ought  surely 
never  to  be  accepted  as  in  itself  conclusive  against 
otherwise  great  literature.  For  what  conclusively 
makes  a poem  like  Faust  great  is  the  height  touched 
in  it.  Now  the  heights  touched  in  the  Second  Part 
are  very  lofty.  In  conception  the  drama  is  of  a 
splendid  order.  So  it  is  in  the  range  and  insight 
apparent  in  its  execution.  It  has  the  defects  referred 
to.  But  these  very  defects  are  the  outcome  of  its 
character.  They  are  due  to  the  poem  having  been 
the  work  not  of  a young  man  but  of  an  old  man, 


ITS  HEAL  SIGNIFICANCE  775 

working  intermittently.  But  then  none  but  an 
old  and  enriched  mind  could  have  conceived  and 
written  it. 

Because  Goethe  was  essentially  a thinker  his 
mode  of  thinking  must  dominate  his  art.  This  is 
not  a good  thing  from  the  point  of  view  of  art  as 
such.  But  then  the  tragedy  of  Faust  is  more  than 
a work  of  art.  It  contains  a great  system  of  thought. 
It  inculcates  a view  of  life  and  of  religion  which, 
whether  complete  or  not,  is  one  of  the  greatest 
that  has  ever  been  given  to  the  world.  The  poetry 
is  the  richest  of  reflective  poetry.  Inasmuch  as  it  is 
so,  it  is  inseparable  from  the  author’s  other  work. 
It  cannot  be  distinguished  from  his  personality. 
Now  the  personality  of  Goethe  is  in  itself  extra- 
ordinarily instructive.  Its  story  resembles  in  many 
points  the  story  of  Faust  himself,  and  in  none  more 
than  in  the  unhasting  but  unresting  effort  at  self- 
redemption  that  characterizes  it.  For  Goethe  this  was 
a sustained  and  enduring  effort.  His  purpose  was 
followed  out  despite  all  adverse  circumstances,  “ ohne 
Hast,  ohne  Hast.”  When  he  enjoins,  as  the  supreme 
maxim  of  life,  “ Stirb  und  werde,”  he  is  saying  some- 
thing with  a meaning  different  from  the  Pauline 
injunction  of  dying  to  live,  as  ordinarily  interpreted. 

Stirb  und  werde. 

Denn  solang  du  nicht  hast, 

Bist  du  nur  ein  triiber  Gast 
Auf  der  dunkeln  Erde. 

With  these  words  of  Goethe  we  must  read  as 
their  context  the  dying  exclamation  of  Faust : — ■ 

He  only  gains  and  keeps  his  life  and  freedom, 

Who  daily  has  to  conquer  them  anew. 

For  Goethe  the  duty  of  dying  to  live  seems  in 
this  light  to  mean  a sustained  effort  continuous 
through  the  whole  of  life,  and  its  result  is  for  him 
freedom  of  the  spirit  to  be  attained  within  this  life, 
and  by  no  other  means.  In  their  conceptions  of  dying 
in  order  to  come  to  a higher  life  Matthew  Arnold 


776  FAUST— SECOND  PART 

insists  that  Goethe  and  St.  Paul  were  really  at  one, 
for  in  his  “ St.  Paul  and  Protestantism  ” he  cites 
the  passage  quoted  as  testimony  “ from  an  unsus- 
pected witness,  assuredly,  to  the  psychological  and 
scientific  profoundness  of  Paul’s  conception  of  life 
and  death.”  He  may  be  right,  but,  if  he  is,  St.  Paul 
was  teaching  something  different  from  what  has 
been  currently  attributed  to  him.  And  this  raises 
the  whole  question  of  whether  Goethe  was  a dis- 
tinctive Christian,  and  whether  the  doctrine  of  the 
Second  Part  of  Faust  is  truly  Christian  doctrine. 

The  answer,  of  course,  depends  on  what  is  under- 
stood by  Christianity.  If  the  redemption  of  man  is 
to  be  looked  on  as  necessarily  a sudden  process,  or 
as  something  which  has  taken  place  apart  from  his 
own  freely  exercised  striving  after  it ; if,  in  other 
words,  it  is  to  be  conceived  as  Calvin  and  most 
Puritans  have  conceived  it,  then  Goethe  was  not  of 
their  faith.  But  there  may  be  more  aspects  than 
one  of  the  great  fact  of  redemption  with  which  St. 
Paul  and  Goethe  deal,  and  if  so  they  may  have  been 
at  times  nearer  to  each  other  than  is  generally 
supposed.  The  subject  is  much  too  large  to  have 
more  than  passing  attention  drawn  to  it  here.  What 
is  clear  is  that  Goethe  meant  to  represent  man  as 
recognized  in  the  Prologue  in  Heaven  to  possess  latent 
within  him  a quality  of  which  the  Devil  did  not 
dream,  and,  in  accordance  with  the  underlying 
thought  of  the  Second  Part  of  the  tragedy,  to  be 
able  to  work  up  this  potentiality,  due  to  his  being 
fashioned  in  the  likeness  of  God,  into  its  fruition.  Yet 
it  was  clearly  to  this  spiritual  quality  in  man’s  nature, 
to  a gift  given  by  God  Himself,  that  man  owed  his 
capacity,  the  capacity  which  implied  a power  to  re- 
nounce self.  The  principle  is  one  which  is  expressed 
by  Goethe  over  and  over  again  in  other  poems  than 
Faust.  In  Das  Gottliche,  an  ode  published  in  1783, 
he  bursts  forth  with  words  of  inspired  emphasis: — 

Nur  allein  der  Mensch 

Vermag  das  Unmogliche ; 


GOETHE  S RELIGIOUS  BELIEF  777 

Er  unterscheidet, 

Wahlet  und  richtet ; 

Er  kann  dem  Augenblick 
Dauer  verleihen. 

Und  wir  verehren 
Die  Unsterblichen, 

Als  waren  sie  Menschen, 

Thaten  im  Grossen, 

Was  der  Beste  im  Kleinen 
Thut  oder  mochte. 

In  the  little  volume  published  by  Dr.  Vogel, 
Goethe’s  Selbstzeugnisse,  the  reader  will  find  a care- 
fully made  collection  of  his  declarations  on  the  subject 
of  his  own  religious  faith  in  this  sense.  It  is  this 
faith  that  really  comes  to  expression  in  Faust.  But 
for  Goethe  religion  was  not,  taken  by  itself  and  in 
abstraction,  sufficient  to  absorb  the  whole  of  the 
highest  capacities  of  man.  If  this  fundamental 
principle  of  his  interpretation  of  man  is  borne  in 
mind,  the  Second  Part  of  Faust  becomes  less  difficult 
to  understand,  and  its  form  becomes  less  baffling. 

Wilhelm  Gwinner,  an  accomplished  critic,  who 
was  also  the  interpreter  of  Schopenhauer,  concludes 
his  book  on  Goethe’s  Faust-idee  with  a passage 
which  is  perhaps  worth  translating  before  closing 
this  chapter.  He  has  presented  a view  of  the  poet’s 
aim  in  the  idea  of  Faust  differing  in  certain  points 
from  that  of  these  pages.  But  he  says  something 
which,  for  a German  who  is  proud  of  Goethe,  is  true 
of  the  work  of  the  latter  with  whatever  differences 
in  stress  it  is  interpreted.  “ Of  this  ” [the  real  idea 
of  Faust]  “ Germany,  as  the  home  of  the  Faust 
legend,  may  well  be  proud.  But  it  is  really  related 
to  the  current  notions  about  Faust  much  as  Philo- 
sophy is  related  to  History  and  to  the  false  national 
feeling  which  finds  satisfaction  in  it.  The  object  of 
Tragedy,  writes  Lessing,  in  agreement  with  Aristotle, 
is  far  more  philosophical  than  the  object  of  History, 
and  it  is  to  strip  it  of  its  true  value  if  we  look  on 
Tragedy  as  mere  panegyric  on  famous  men,  or  as  a 


778  FA  UST — SECOND  PART 

means  of  feeding  the  national  pride.  Such  a misuse 
of  the  greatest  work  of  her  greatest  poet  posterity 
will  blame  in  the  Germans,  in  that  they  have  looked 
on  Faust  as  a mere  picture  of  the  age  as  much  as  an 
ideal  of  the  Time-spirit,  or  as  their  own  national 
ideal  of  life.” 

But  to  Goethe  himself  it  is  due  if  his  country  has 
fallen  into  the  error  which  Gwinner  speaks  of.  For 
he  was  a German  through  and  through  just  as 
Shakespeare  was  an  Englishman  through  and  through. 
True  he  belonged  to  the  old  Germany  that  laid  more 
stress  on  “ the  wonderful  might  of  thought  ” than 
on  national  expansion  and  war.  The  Germans  of  his 
day  were  a “ Lernvolk  ” that  had  not  yet  begun  to 
desire  to  be  changed  into  a~‘  Thatvolk.”  But  in  his 
case,  unlike  that  of  Shakespeare,  we  fortunately  have 
so  much  minute  information  about  the  details  of  his 
life,  that  we  can  do  him  justice  by  being  conscious 
of  the  effect  of  his  surroundings  on  his  development. 
If  the  student  wishes  to  see  what  these  surroundings 
meant  for  Goethe,  he  has  only  to  turn  to  two  recent 
books,  both  published  in  1910 — Edward  Engel’s 
Goethe,  Der  Mann  und  das  W erk,  and  Wilhelm  B ode’s 
Charlotte  von  Stein. 

Even  just  before  the  outbreak  of  the  war  Goethe 
was  being  extensively  studied  in  Germany.  The 
reason  was  that  his  quality  and  range  satisfied  the 
best  in  the  mind  of  a people  that  by  nature  is  both 
diligent  in  study  and  highly  educated.  It  may  be 
that  the  unexpected  call  to  build  herself  up  in  a new 
fashion  that  has  come  to  Germany,  as  the  outcome 
of  failure  in  an  enterprise  wholly  foreign  to  the 
spirit  of  Goethe,  will  make  Germany  turn  still  more 
towards  him,  and  hold  more  closely  to  what  he 
sought  to  teach  mankind.  If  this  be  so,  he  may 
prove  to  be  still  a wise  counsellor  for  the  German 
nation. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 


LAST  MONTHS — CONCLUSION 
July,  1831 — March,  1832 

After  the  completion  of  the  Second  Part  of  Faust 
in  the  summer  of  1831,  Goethe  was  to  see  only  one 
other  birthday,  and  with  it  are  associated  two 
interesting  incidents.  The  one  was  a congratulatory 
communication  which  moved  him  deeply.  It  was 
a birthday  letter  subscribed  by  fifteen  Englishmen, 
which,  prompted  and  written  by  Carlyle,  expressed 
their  debt  to  him  as  a spiritual  teacher.  The  letter 
was  accompanied  by  a seal  designed  by  Mrs.  Carlyle^ 
on  which  was  engraved  the  serpent  of  eternity 
enclosing  a star  with  Goethe’s  own  words,  Ohne  Hast , 
ohne  Bast,  inscribed.  Goethe  acknowledged  the 
gift  in  these  characteristic  lines  1 : — 

Worte,  die  der  Dichter  spriclit, 

Treu  in  heimischen  Bezirken, 

Wirken  gleich,  doch  weiss  er  nickt, 

Ob  sie  in  die  Feme  wirken. 

Briten  ! habt  sie  aufgefasst ; 

“ Thatigen  Sinn,  das  Thun  geztigelt ; 

Stetig  Streben  ohne  Hast,” 

Und  so  wollt  ihr’s  denn  besiegelt. 

For  some  years  it  had  been  Goethe’s  habit  to 
leave  Weimar  on  the  occasion  of  his  birthday  to 

1 As  the  lines  were  first  printed,  they  were  entitled  : “ An  die  neunzehn 
Freunde  in  England.”  There  were  only  fifteen  signatories : among  them 
were  Southey,  Procter,  Heraud  (of  Fraser  s Magazine),  Professor  Wilson, 
John  Carlyle,  Lockhart,  Lord  Francis  Leveson  Gower,  Moir,  Jerdan  (of 
the  Literary  Gazette),  Maginn,  Fraser  (of  the  Foreign  Review ),  Churchill 
(translator  of  Wallensteins  Lager).  Lewes  includes  Wordsworth’s  name. 

779 


780  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

avoid  the  excitement  connected  with  its  celebration. 
On  this  the  last  occasion  he  chose  as  his  retreat 
a spot  where  he  had  often  found  repose — the  village 
of  Ilmenau  in  the  Thuringian  Forest.  He  had 
first  made  acquaintance  with  the  place  in  July, 
1776, 1 the  second  year  after  his  settlement  in  Weimar, 
and  he  had  frequently  visited  it  at  subsequent  periods. 
Many  memories,  pleasant  and  painful,  were  associated 
with  the  spot.  There  he  had  hunted  with  the  Duke 
and  shared  in  escapades,  the  memory  of  which  still 
lives  in  the  neighbourhood ; there  he  had  dreamed 
of  Frau  von  Stein  and  addressed  to  her  passionate 
poems  and  letters  charged  with  the  conflicting 
emotions  with  which  his  love  for  her  tortured  him  ; 
and  on  the  walls  of  the  hut,  which  crowned  the  summit 
of  the  Kickelhahm,  he  had  inscribed  the  lines, 
TJeber  alien  Gipfeln.  He  had  not  visited  Ilmenau 
for  eighteen  years,  and  on  the  last  occasion  it  had 
been  in  the  company  of  the  Duke.  Now  he  went 
with  his  two  grandchildren,  and  in  a mood  coloured 
by  all  the  memories  which  the  spot  suggested.  In 
a letter  to  Zelter  he  gave  utterance  to  the  thoughts 
that  were  awakened  in  him — the  thoughts  of  now 
and  then.  Just  as  fifty  years  before,  the  inhabitants 
were  toiling  at  their  various  tasks  in  connection 
with  the  mines  which  he  had  himself  striven  in 
vain  to  make  a profitable  industry.  “ After  so 
many  years  one  could  not  but  review  the  past : 
what  had  endured,  what  had  vanished.  Successes 
were  recalled  with  heartening  ; failures  remained 
forgotten  without  a pang.”  On  the  wall  of  the 
hut 2 he  read  the  lines  he  had  written  so  many  years 
before,  and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  murmured 
the  concluding  words  : — 

Warte  nur — balde 

Ruhest  du  auch, 


1 See  above,  p.  240. 

8 It  was  burnt  to  the  ground  in  1870,  but  was  rebuilt  on  the  same  place 
in  1874. 


ILMENAU  ONCE  MORE  781 

words  now  charged  for  him  with  other  emotions 
than  those  which  first  inspired  them. 

After  a stay  of  six  days  at  Ilmenau  he  returned 
to  Weimar,  which  he  was  never  again  to  leave. 
“ And  so  forward  from  the  first  line  to  the  last  ” ; 
thus  he  concluded  a letter  to  Sulpiz  Boisseree  in 
the  following  November,  and  it  was  in  the  spirit 
of  these  words  that  his  remaining  months  were 
spent.  As  always,  his  tasks  were  various.  In  the 
autumn  he  contributed  a paper  to  a Berlin  journal 
on  the  controversy  between  Cuvier  and  St.  Hilaire, 
rewrote  lines  in  the  Second  Part  of  Faust,  and  gave 
much  attention  to  botany,  comparative  anatomy, 
geology,  and  optics — the  sciences  which  had  always 
chiefly  interested  him.  For  consolation  and  stimulus 
he  characteristically  turned  to  the  ancients.  One 
quiet  evening  he  suddenly  bethought  him  of  Cicero’s 
De  Senectute,  which  hitherto  he  had  never  felt 
inclined  to  read  ; he  read  it  now  and  was  charmed 
by  its  picture  of  the  old  age  of  noble  Romans. 
Plutarch’s  lives  were  read  aloud  to  him  in  the 
evenings  by  his  daughter-in-law— the  lives  of  the 
Greeks  and  the  Romans  being  taken  continuously, 
and  not  alternately  as  Plutarch  presents  them ; 
for  thus,  he  considered,  Greece  and  Rome  might 
be  best  compared.  The  re-reading  of  yet  another 
ancient  writer  reawoke  and  intensified  an  old 
enthusiasm.  A new  edition  of  Euripides’  I'phigenia 
in  Aulis  had  just  appeared,  and  in  going  through 
it  again  he  was  more  impressed  than  ever  by 
Euripides’  master  over  his  materials  and  by  the 
consummate  skill  with  which  he  handles  them. 
With  youthful  enthusiasm  he  resolved  to  give  the 
whole  of  the  ensuing  winter  to  that  “ incomparable 
Greek  poet,”  as  he  calls  him. 

As  his  letters  and  diary  show,  Goethe  began  his 
last  year,  1832,  in  excellent  spirits.  He  had  less 
than  three  months  before  him,  and  almost  to  the 
last  his  days  were  fully  occupied.  He  wrote  another 
paper,  which  he  finished  a short  time  before  his 


782  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

death,  on  the  subject  which  dominated  every  other 
in  his  last  self-communings — the  issue  of  the 
controversy  between  Cuvier  and  St.  Hilaire.  In 
January  he  read  to  his  daughter-in-law  the  completed 
Faust,  and  thereafter  put  it  under  seal  with  directions 
that  it  should  not  be  published  till  after  his  death. 
The  world,  he  wrote  to  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt  in 
the  last  letter  he  dictated  (March  17),  was  “ too 
absurd  and  confused  ” to  give  due  consideration  to 
a work  of  such  a nature. 

Two  days  before  he  dictated  this  letter  to 
Humboldt  (March  15)  he  was  stricken  with  his 
last  illness.  On  that  day  he  caught  cold  in  the 
course  of  a walk,  and  the  next  morning  his  physician 
Dr.  Vogel  found  him  in  bed,  feverish  and  without 
appetite.  During  the  next  three  days  he  was  able 
to  move  to  his  study,  to  read,  and  even  to  engage 
in  animated  conversation.  On  the  night  of  the 
19th  grave  symptoms  appeared ; shivering,  accom- 
panied by  pain  which  gradually  ascended  from 
the  limbs  to  the  chest,  and  great  difficulty  in 
breathing.  The  following  morning  Vogel  found  an 
alarming  change ; his  features  were  distorted,  his 
colour  ashen-grey,  and  the  pain  in  the  chest  was 
such  that  he  cried  aloud.  Towards  evening  his 
condition  improved,  and  he  was  able  to  rise  and 
even  to  attempt  to  read  a book  in  which  he  had 
been  interested.  At  seven  in  the  morning  of  his 
last  day  (the  22nd)  he  requested  Ottilie  to  bring 
him  a portfolio  of  drawings  and  spoke  to  her  for 
some  time  on  optical  phenomena.  All  through  his 
illness  he  talked  confidently  of  his  recovery — and 
he  looked  forward  to  the  approach  of  more  genial 
weather  which  had  hitherto  never  failed  to  benefit 
him.  In  previous  illnesses  he  had  been  an  irritable 
patient,  but  in  this  last  illness  those  in  attendance 
on  him  were  moved  by  his  sweetness  and  composure, 
and  his  anxiety  regarding  their  comfort.  Later  in 
the  morning  he  rose  and  seated  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair by  his  bedside.  During  a short  sleep  he  was 


}■ 


Goethe  in  Old  Age. 


[ Facing  p.  782. 


DEATH  AND  BURIAL  783 

heard  to  mutter  words  indicating  that  a beautiful 
female  head  was  floating  before  him  in  his  dreams. 
As  the  forenoon  wore  on,  his  mind  began  to  wander, 
and  his  thoughts  seemed  to  run  on  his  memories 
of  Schiller.  Seeing  a scrap  of  paper  on  the  floor, 
he  asked  why  Schiller’s  letters  were  allowed  to  lie 
there.  With  his  forefinger  he  appeared  to  trace 
lines  of  words  in  the  air — an  old  habit  with  him — 
and  he  inscribed  on  the  coverlet  on  his  knee  what 
those  present  took  to  be  the  figure  of  a large  W. 
Shortly  after  noon  the  end  came.  Settling  himself 
in  the  corner  of  his  chair,  he  passed  imperceptibly 
away  without  a struggle.  According  to  one  account 
his  last  words  were  addressed  to  Ottilie : “ Give 
me  your  little  hand,”  he  playfully  said  to  her ; 
according  to  another,  feeling  uneasy  at  the  darkness 
of  the  room,  he  said  to  his  servant,  “Open  the 
shutters  that  more  light  may  come  in.”  1 

As  many  desired  to  see  the  body,  it  was  laid  in 
state,  robed  in  white  silk  and  black  velvet,  and 
crowned  with  laurel.  The  funeral  took  place  on 
March  26,  and  was  attended  by  all  the  leading 
personages  in  the  town  and  Duchy.  Twenty-four 
workmen,  representing  all  the  crafts,  bore  the  coffin, 
which  was  placed  beside  that  of  Schiller  in  the 
Grand-Ducal  burial  vault.  In  the  chapel  the  choir 
sang  Goethe’s  own  lines,  written  in  1825  for  the 
Lodge  of  the  Weimar  Freemasons  and  set  to  music 
by  Zelter. 

Lasst  fahren  hin  das  allzu  Fliichtige  ! 

Ihr  sucht  bei  ihm  vergebens  Eat  ; 

In  dem  Vergangnen  lebt  das  Tiichtige, 

Verewigt  sick  in  sckoner  That. 

Und  so  gewinnt  sich  das  Lebendige 
Duroh  Folg’  aus  Folge  neue  Kraft, 

Denn  die  Gesinnung,  die  bestandige, 

Sie  macht  allein  den  Menscken  dauerhaft. 


1 The  last  words  formerly  ascribed  to  him  were  simply : Mehr  Licht 
words  which,  in  the  mouth  of  Goethe,  suggested  a symbolical  meaning. 


784  LAST  MONTHS — CONCLUSION 

So  lost  sich  jene  grosse  Frage 

Nach  unserm  zweiten  Vaterland, 

Denn  das  Bestandige  der  ird’schen  Tage 

Verblirgt  uns  ewigen  Bestand. 

In  a letter  to  Carlyle,  written  in  1837,  John 
Sterling  writes  as  follows  : “ As  to  reading,  I have 
been  looking  at  Goethe,  specially  the  ‘ Life,’  much 
as  a shying  horse  at  a post.  In  truth,  I am  afraid 
of  him.  I enjoy  and  admire  him  so  much,  and 
feel  I could  so  easily  be  tempted  to  go  along  with 
him.  And  yet  I have  a deeply-rooted  and  old 
persuasion  that  he  was  the  most  splendid  of 
anachronisms.  A thoroughly,  nay  intense^  pagan 
life,  in  an  age  when  it  is  men’s  duty  to  be  Christian. 
I therefore  never  take  him  up  without  a kind  of 
inward  check,  as  if  I were  trying  some  forbidden 
spell.” 

In  his  tale,  the  Onyx  Ring,  Sterling  embodied 
in  the  character  of  Walsingham  the  conception  of 
the  German  poet  to  which  he  here  gives  expression. 
He  came  eventually  to  take  a very  different  view  of 
the  character  and  work  of  Goethe,  and,  in  Carfyle’s 
words,  put  him  on  the  throne  of  his  intellectual 
world  ; but  the  interest  of  his  original  view  is  that, 
since  Goethe  first  attracted  attention  in  this  country, 
it  has  been  the  view  of  the  average  cultivated  English- 
man and  precisely  on  the  ground  indicated  by 
Sterling — Goethe’s  “ thoroughly,  nay  intensely  pagan 
life.”  The  aversion  of  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge 
— characteristically  English  in  their  feelings  and 
sympathies— had  the  same  origin.  Coleridge  tells 
us  that  he  was  pressed  to  translate  the  First  Part 
of  Faust ; and  one  of  the  two  reasons  he  alleges 
for  not  undertaking  the  task  was  the  consideration 
whether  “ it  became  my  moral  character  to  render 
into  English,  and,  so  far,  certainly,  lend  my 
countenance  to  language,  much  of  which  I thought 
vulgar,  licentious,  and  blasphemous.”  To  Dr. 
Arnold,  another  typically  English  mind,  the  Prologue 
in  Heaven  was  the  expression  of  a profoundly 


ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH  VIEWS  785 


un-Christian  spirit,  to  which  reverence  must  be  an 
inaccessible  feeling,  and  in  R.  H.  Hutton’s  essay- 
on  Goethe  there  is  the  same  fixed  aversion  as  was 
originally  felt  by  Sterling.  There  have,  indeed, 
been  eminent  English  critics  who  have  seen  Goethe 
with  other  eyes.  Matthew  Arnold,  Sir  John  Seeley, 
Henry  Sidgwick,  and  Edward  Caird — not  to  speak 
of  his  first  and  most  fervent  apostle,  Carlyle — 
received  him  with  no  such  misgivings,  and  acknow- 
ledged him  as  one  of  the  safest  and  sagest  guides 
of  life.  But,  in  different  ways,  all  these  critics 
were  essentially  un-English  in  their  cast  of  thought. 
“ Concerning  Goethe,”  wrote  Professor  Dowden, 
“ the  British  public  have  always  had  their  doubts 
and  scruples.”  And  the  general  attitude  of  the 
English  mind  to  Goethe  fully  confirms  the  statement. 

It  is  remarkable  that  in  France  Goethe  has  been 
regarded  with  the  same  hesitations  as  in  England. 
We  might  have  expected  that  he  would  have  been 
received  more  whole-heartedly  by  a nation  which 
among  its  neighbours  has  the  repute  of  being  a 
Gallio.  Moreover,  Goethe’s  personal  relations  with 
France  were  closer ; he  frankly  admitted  how  much 
he  was  in  debt  to  France  for  the  best  part  of  his 
culture,  and  he  even  incurred  the  reproach  of  his 
countrymen  by  his  cordial  appreciation  of  France 
and  her  people.  Yet  it  would  appear  that  Sterling’s 
comparison  of  the  shying  horse  and  the  post  is 
as  applicable  on  the  one  side  of  the  Channel  as  the 
other.  “ Geneva  ” and  “ Rome,”  we  are  told,1  have 
been  Goethe’s  steady  adversaries  in  France,  and 
together  they  have  in  a large  degree  determined 
opinion  regarding  him.  For  Lacordaire  he  was 
un  mauvais  genie,  and  Lamennais  wrote  with  special 
reference  to  Faust : “ Je  me  figure  quelquefois  que 
ce  grand  charlatan  entendait  a merveille  qu’il  ne 
s’entendait  pas  et  riait  en  lui-meme  des  pauvre 
nigauds  qui  se  creuseraient  un  jour  la  cervelle  pour 
trouver  le  mot  d’une  enigme  qui  n’en  a point.”  As 

1 F.  Baldensperger,  Goethe  en  France  (1904). 

2 c 


VOL.  II. 


786  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

an  expression  of  the  attitude  of  “ Geneva,”  we  may- 
take  the  judgment  of  Amiel,  who,  however,  like 
Sterling,  eventually  came  round  to  Goethe’s 
naturalistic  point  of  view.  Goethe,  he  says,  “ ignore 
la  saintete  et  n’a  jamais  voulu  reflecliir  sur  le  terrible 
probleme  du  mal.  II  n’est  jamais  arrive  au  sentiment 
de  1’ obligation  et  du  peche.”  In  France,  as  in 
England,  it  has  been  with  those  who  have  broken 
with  traditional  beliefs  and  sentiments  that  Goethe 
has  found  his  account ; and  his  chief  believers  have 
been  spirits  like  George  Sand,  Theopkile  Gautier, 
Sainte-Beuve,  Repan,  and  Taine.  For  Taine,  Goethe 
was  “ le  maitre  de  tous  les  esprits  modernes,”  and 
George  Sand  is  equally  emphatic  in  her  recognition 
of  his  significance.  Goethe,  she  says,  “ n’etait  pas 
seulement  un  grand  ecrivain ; c’etait  un  beau 
caractere,  une  noble  nature,  un  coeur  droit, 
desinteresse.” 

Even  in  his  own  country  Goethe  has  never  been 
generally  popular.  During  his  closing  years  he 
described  himself  as  “ in  a perpetual  state  of  conflict  ” 
with  the  younger  generation.  For  many  years 
after  his  death  the  attacks  of  Wolfgang  Menzel 
and  Ludwig  Borne  did  much  to  discredit  him  with 
the  German  public.  Subsequently,  such  denigration 
as  that  of  Menzel  and  Borne  in  great  measure  ceased, 
and  a succession  of  enthusiastic  students  went  to 
the  opposite  extreme  in  the  excess  of  their  laudation. 
Yet  certain  of  his  most  recent  German  biographers 
have  been  constrained  to  admit  that  he  has  never 
made  a wide  appeal  even  to  the  educated  classes 
among  his  countrymen.  The  circle  of  his  admirers, 
says  one,1  is  daily  becoming  smaller;  and  another2 
asserts  that  he  has  not  the  favour  of  the  reading 
public,  which  finds  his  romances  and  dramas 
tedious.  But  the  course  of  German  history  during 
the  last  half-century  is  the  all-sufficient  evidence 


1 R.  Meyer,  Goethe  (1898). 

a C.  Schreinpf,  Goethes  Lebcnsanschauunrj  (1905). 


GERMAN  OPINION  787 

that  the  spirit  and  teaching  of  Goethe  have  been 
least  potent  among  his  own  people. 

It  need  not  create  surprise  that  Goethe  has 
found,  and  will  continue  to  find,  antipathies  among 
various  orders  of  minds.  He  stands  for  a definite 
outlook  on  men  and  the  world,  and  no  one  outlook 
will  satisfy  every  spirit.  Lucretius,  Dante,  Milton 
repel  or  attract,  as  their  attitude  to  human  destiny 
awakes  agreement  or  disagreement  in  ourselves. 
Homer  and  Shakespeare  provoke  no  such  antagonism, 
because  they  are  identified  with  no  special  vision 
of  the  meaning  of  life.  Not  only,  however,  had 
Goethe  a message  of  his  own  which  is  unacceptable 
to  many,  but  there  prevail  certain  conceptions  of 
his  personal  qualities  which  adversely  affect  its 
interpretation. 

“ Goethe  can  never  be  dear  to  men,”  wrote 
Emerson  as  a transcendentalist ; and  the  implication 
of  the  remark  is  that  there  was  some  grave  defect 
both  in  his  head  and  in  his  heart.  As  for  Goethe’s 
heart,  it  has  to  be  said  that  those  who  knew  him 
best  in  life  were  most  attracted  to  him.  The  devotion 
of  his  mother  and  sister  went  beyond  the  devotion 
of  ordinary  mothers  and  sisters,  and  there  is  abundant 
testimony  that  throughout  life  he  had  an  exceptional 
power  of  attracting  friends.  Jung  Stilling,  whom 
he  knew  in  his  youth  and  to  whom  he  did  many 
kind  offices,  said  that  his  heart  was  as  great  as  his 
intellect,  and  others  bore  the  same  witness  in  almost 
the  same  words.  On  his  arrival  in  Weimar,  Wieland 
at  once  took  him  to  his  heart,  and,  though  difference 
of  opinion  subsequently  made  their  intercourse  less 
intimate,  they  remained  friends  to  the  last.  The 
bond  between  him  and  Schiller  was  primarily 
intellectual,  but  his  memories  of  Schiller  were  of 
the  heart  as  well  as  of  the  mind.  Knebel,  who  was 
his  friend  for  over  fifty  years,  described  him  as 
“ the  best  of  men,  the  most  lovable  of  mankind,” 
and  Zelter’s  devotion  to  him  was  such  that  he  could 
not  survive  him.  In  his  youth  and  his  old  age 


788  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

children  delighted  in  him  and  he  in  them — the  most 
evident  proof  that  he  could  have  been  neither  cold- 
hearted  nor  a pedant.  We  may  conclude,  therefore, 
that  his  philosophy,  such  as  it  was,  did  not  proceed 
from  the  lack  of  kindly  human  qualities. 

Moreover,  he  possessed  certain  other  qualities 
which  men  rate  high  in  their  estimate  of  their 
fellows  ; sincerity,  candour,  and  plain  dealing  were 
eminent  characteristics  of  his  nature.  Even  the 
ordinary  forms  of  conventional  expression  were 
repugnant  to  him  and  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  write  a letter  which  did  not  express  what  he  really 
thought  and  felt.  He  was  singularly  free  from  all 
pettiness  of  spirit.  Herder,  not  a genial  observer, 
said  of  him  to  Schiller : “ He  is  untainted  by  any 
spirit  of  intrigue  ; he  has  never  knowingly  persecuted 
any  one,  or  undermined  the  happiness  of  others.” 
One  characteristic  he  possessed  which  implies  a 
natural  magnanimity  of  mind ; envy  of  the  gifts 
or  reputations  of  others  was  a sentiment  which  he 
did  not  know.  During  his  association  with  Schiller, 
when  Schiller’s  fame  was  overshadowing  his  own 
and  mischievous  persons  were  seeking  to  stir  up 
jealousy  between  them,  his  only  feeling  was 
satisfaction  that  his  friend  had  struck  the  path  in 
which  his  genius  found  its  freest  and  fullest  develop- 
ment. Devoid  of  vanity  as  of  envy,  he  was  fully 
aware  of  his  own  endowments  and  of  the  value  of 
the  work  he  had  given  to  the  world,  but  it  was  his 
habitual  attitude  to  regard  himself  as  simply  an 
organ  of  nature  through  whom  she  communicated 
certain  truths  to  the  world.  He  uniformly  dis- 
claimed what  is  called  originality,  and  insistently 
proclaimed  his  debt  to  the  labours  of  others,  past 
and  present ; on  no  theme  does  he  speak  with  more 
cutting  irony  than  on  the  pretensions  of  such  as 
arrogate  independence  of  other  men’s  thoughts. 

The  qualities  just  enumerated  were  undoubtedly 
his,  and  they  are  qualities  that  evoke  the  affection 
and  esteem  of  men.  Yet,  how  is  it  that  such 


THE  REAL  MAN  789 

divergent  views  prevail  regarding  one  about  whom 
we  possess  ampler  information  than  about  any  other 
of  the  world’s  great  men  ? Of  his  life,  from  birth 
to  the  grave,  we  have  details  so  full  and  precise 
that  he  is  ever  before  us  as  a living  personality, 
acting  or  acted  upon  by  the  successive  influences 
by  which  he  was  surrounded.  From  the  testimonies 
of  friends  and  foes,  from  his  own  set  productions, 
from  his  voluminous  letters  and  journals,  we  have 
a portrait  of  a human  being  with  his  moral,  mental 
and  physical  characteristics  in  their  totality,  such 
as,  we  might  think,  should  have  left  no  room  for 
doubt  regarding  the  manner  of  man  he  was.  As 
Seeley  has  remarked,  “ we  may  almost  say  that 
Goethe  has  compensated  to  mankind  for  its  almost 
total  loss  of  the  biography  of  Shakespeare.”  Yet, 
doubtless,  the  very  abundance  of  the  information 
we  possess  is  one  cause  of  the  diverse  impressions 
he  makes  on  different  minds. 

But  with  Goethe  it  is  not  only  the  wealth  of 
material  that  is  baffling  ; in  his  character  and  genius 
there  is  an  elusiveness  of  which  he  was  himself 
aware  and  which  struck  every  observer.  “ In  some 
respects  I am  a chameleon,”  he  wrote  of  himself 
when  he  was  in  his  fifteenth  year.  “ Is  my  Alexis 
to  be  blamed,  then,  if  he  has  not  studied  all  my 
phases  ? ” Writing  of  him  at  the  age  of  twTenty- 
five,  Fritz  Jacobi  said  : “ Goethe  is  as  one  possessed 
and  almost  never  has  any  choice  as  to  what  he 
shall  do.”  Again,  Felix  Mendelssohn,  who  saw  him 
about  a year  before  his  death,  declared,  as  we  have 
seen,  that  the  world  would  one  day  come  to  believe 
that  there  had  been  not  one  but  many  Goethes. 
And  this  Protean  nature  was  in  exact  correspondence 
with  his  physical  organization.  The  massive  head 
and  bust  presented  in  his  later  portraits  suggest 
the  frame  of  an  athlete  impervious  to  the  influences 
that  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  less  robust 
constitutions.  In  point  of  fact,  not  Shelley  himself 
was  more  sensitive  to  “ skiey  influences  ” than 


790  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

Goethe.  Though  he  had  a powerful  frame,  his 
organs  were  peculiarly  subject  to  disorder ; and 
both  as  a young  man  and  as  an  old  one  he  had 
frequent  illnesses  which  nearly  proved  fatal.  A 
clouded  sky,  a low  barometer,  paralysed  his  creative 
force,  and  in  his  later  years  he  had  to  await  the 
inspiration  of  the  returning  sun.  His  effervescence 
of  spirit  during  his  two  years’  sojourn  in  Italy — 
the  only  really  happy  period  of  his  manhood,  as 
he  so  frequently  declared — was  due  as  much  to  its 
climate  and  skies  as  to  its  treasures  of  art. 

In  his  human  relations  he  was  equally  sensitive. 
A particular  cast  of  expression,  a particular  shade 
of  manner  in  those  with  whom  he  came  in  contact, 
formed  a barrier  to  intercourse  which  he  was  unable 
to  overcome.1  Despite  his  expressed  contempt  for 
popular  opinion  he  felt  all  unsympathetic  criticism 
keenly  ; and  the  cold  reception  of  the  works  he 
produced  after  his  return  from  Italy,  threw  him  into 
permanent  depression.  Moreover,  he  was  frequently 
visited  at  all  periods  of  his  life  by  moods  which 
he  himself  recognized  as  morbid.  In  the  case  of 
the  greater  trials  of  life  he  gave  way  to  emotions 
which  for  the  time  unmanned  him.  His  friends 
shrank  from  telling  him  of  the  deaths  of  Schiller 
and  of  his  own  son,  and  during  the  last  illness  of 
his  wife  his  conduct  was  that  of  one  distracted. 
Such  was  the  physical  and  mental  temperament  of 
the  man  whose  external  appearance  and  demeanour 
in  his  later  years  suggested  the  carriage  of  a god,  to 
whom  “ the  sense  of  tears  in  mortal  things  ” was 
but  a stimulant  to  esthetic  and  philosophic 
contemplation. 

With  such  a temperament,  how  was  Goethe  able 
to  subdue  himself  to  the  stead}^  and  persistent 
purpose  which  seems  as  apparent  in  him  in  the 
passionate  period  of  his  youth  as  in  the  calm  of 
mature  age  ? Once  and  again  it  appea  red  as  if 
he  were  about  to  make  shipwreck  in  the  tumults 

1 It  was  noted  above  that  he  was  put  out  by  persons  wearing  spectacles. 


DOMINANT  CHARACTERISTICS  791 

of  passion ; yet  he  always  emerges  victorious, 
apparently  only  invigorated  by  the  troubles  he  has 
passed  through.  Certain  expressions  of  his  own 
suggest  an  explanation  which,  with  all  the  facts 
of  his  life  before  us,  we  can  hardly  accept  without 
large  reserves.  As  he  represents  himself,  it  would 
appear  that  in  seasons  of  apparently  the  most 
complete  self-abandonment,  he  retained  his  power 
of  self-control,  and  could  still  the  raging  sea  within 
him  by  sheer  force  of  will.  But  do  the  accounts 
we  possess  of  his  personal  experiences  and  of  his 
creative  activity  suggest  that  he  was  at  all  times 
his  own  master,  equally  in  relation  to  his  fellows 
and  to  his  imaginative  production  ? Was  he  able 
to  say  at  any  moment,  “ I will  pursue  this  path 
of  conduct,  or  follow  this  artistic  ideal  and  none 
other,”  and  then  abandon  it  when  it  seemed  good 
to  him  ? As  we  should  expect  from  his  physical 
and  mental  characteristics,  the  impression  we  receive 
is  precisely  the  contrary,  the  more  closely  we  follow 
his  personal  conduct  in  the  passionate  experiences 
of  his  life  and  in  the  successive  phases  of  his 
intellectual  development.  It  is  an  illusion  common 
to  the  greatest  as  well  as  to  the  most  ordinary  of 
mortals  that  they  are  determining  their  own  choice 
of  alternatives  when  they  are  only  following  their 
nature’s  imperious  instincts.  Such  instincts  were 
all-commanding  in  Goethe,  as  they  must  be  if 
genius  in  any  of  its  forms  is  to  find  its  full  expression. 
What,  indeed,  strikes  us  most  forcibly  in  Goethe 
is  the  lack  of  controlling  will  when  he  comes  into 
conflict  with  the  instincts  implanted  in  him.  Those 
who  knew  him  best  noted  this  characteristic ; 
Schiller  recognized  a feminine  strain  in  his  nature, 
and  Knebel  said  that  he  “ was  very  susceptible  to 
the  opinion  of  others  when  passion  had  not  mastered 
him.” 

Equally  in  the  conduct  of  his  life  and  in  the 
applications  of  his  genius  we  see  his  inability  to 
repress  the  susceptibility  which  was  the  dominating 


792  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 


characteristic  of  his  nature.  He  struggled  hard 
for  self-mastery,  but  again  and  again,  in  all  periods 
of  his  life,  he  yielded  to  passions  which  for  the  time 
enslaved  him.  And  he  was  saved  from  their 
consequences,  not  by  the  exertion  of  his  will,  but 
by  the  provision  nature  had  made  against  impulses 
which,  as  he  tells  us,  might  have  led  to  moral  ship- 
wreck. Along  with  his  susceptibility  went  the 
instinct  to  know  and  to  create,  which  asserted  itself 
even  when  passion  raged  highest  in  him,  and  to 
which  he  confessed  that  he  owed  his  mental  balance. 
We  see  the  same  characteristics  illustrated  in 
connection  with  his  creative  activity.  His  life  is 
strewn  with  abortive  work,  begun  with  enthusiasm 
and  dropped  when  the  original  impulse  flagged.1 
“ Without  compulsion,”  he  wrote  in  his  fortieth 
year,  “ there  is  in  my  case  no  hope,”  and  in  his 
sixty-second  he  said,  “ Usually  what  I say,  I don’t 
do  ; and  what  I promise,  I don’t  hold  to.”  The 
only  labours  he  pursued  with  patient  persistence 
were  those  which  he  expended  on  physical  science, 
and  there  it  was  an  irresistible  instinct  and  not 
a steady  exercise  of  will  that  impelled  him. 

The  conception  of  Goethe  as  an  Apollo  in  his  youth 
and  a Jupiter  in  his  old  age,  serenely  triumphing 
over  the  weaknesses  of  his  own  nature  and  the 
adverse  circumstances  of  life,  is  opposed  equally 
to  his  own  self-revelations  and  to  the  testimony  of 
those  who  had  the  best  opportunities  of  knowing 
him.  That  such  a conception  of  him  should  have 
arisen  is  mainly  due  to  the  reports  of  persons  whose 
individualities  for  different  reasons  were  repellent 
to  him.  He  himself  tells  us  that  the  distant  manner 
which  he  assumed  with  uncongenial  natures  was 
a result  of  his  weakness  and  not  of  his  strength. 
“ To  be  mild,”  he  said,  “ costs  me  nothing,  while 

1 It  may  be  regarded  as  another  proof  of  his  lack  of  self-control  that 
(as  has  been  pointed  out  above)  he  could  not  keep  out  of  his  longer  works, 
such  as  Die  Wahlvcrwandtschaften  and  the  Second  Part  of  Faust,  matter 
which  happened  to  be  interesting  him,  but  which  had  no  relation  to  the 
primary  theme. 


THE  HIGHER  EGOTISM  793 

my  hardness  and  harshness  are  only  factitious  and 
for  self-defence.”  His  stately  reserve,  moreover, 
has  been  interpreted  as  the  outward  expression  of 
an  inborn  egotism  which  actuated  all  his  thought 
and  action.  Egotism  is  a charge  which,  perhaps, 
one  mortal  is  hardly  justified  in  bringing  against 
another.  The  charge,  however,  was  made  against 
Goethe  in  his  lifetime,  and  he  was  fully  aware  of  it. 
It  is  interesting,  therefore,  to  know  in  what  light 
he  himself  regarded  egotism,  and  his  words  may  be 
taken  as  a statement  of  the  animating  principle 
of  all  his  life’s  effort. 

“ The  external  world,”  he  says,  “is  so  violently 
commoved  that  each  of  us  is  threatened  with  being 
borne  along  in  the  whirlpool ; here  he  sees  himself 
forced  to  satisfy  his  own  needs,  directly  and  instantly 
to  give  his  care  to  the  needs  of  others  ; and  then 
he  asks  himself  whether  he  possesses  any  ability 
to  fulfil  this  importunate  duty.  Nothing  remains 
but  to  say  to  ourselves  that  only  the  purest  and 
strictest  egotism  can  save  us  ; but  this  must  be 
a self-conscious,  clearly  and  calmly  expressed  resolve. 
Let  a man  ask  himself  for  what  he  is  most  good,  in 
order  to  cultivate  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability  in  and 
with  reference  to  himself.  Let  him  regard  himself 
as  an  apprentice,  as  a journeyman,  as  an  experienced 
journeyman,  and,  finally  and  with  the  highest 
degree  of  caution,  as  master.  If  he  only  know  with 
judicious  modesty  to  extend  the  demands  of  the 
outer  world  along  with  the  growth  of  his  own 
capacities,  in  order  to  ingratiate  himself  with  it  by 
the  use  of  it,  he  will  gradually  attain  his  end,  and, 
if  successful  in  reaching  what  is  highest,  be  able 
to  work  with  comfort  to  himself.”  1 Thus,  according 

1 To  much  the  same  purport  as  this  passage  is  Aristotle’s  description 
of  the  mind  of  his  “ good  man.”  “ For  the  good  man  is  of  one  mind  with 
himself,  and  desires  the  same  things  with  all  his  soul,  and  wishes  for  himself 
what  both  is  and  seems  good,  and  does  that  (for  it  is  characteristic  of  him 
to  work  out  that  which  is  good)  for  its  own  sake — for  the  sake,  that  is 
to  say,  of  the  rational  part  of  him,  which  seems  to  be  a man’s  self.” — Nic, 
Ethics,  F.  H.  Peters’  translation.  Cf.  Seneca,  “ Qui  sibi  amicus  est,  scito 
hunc  amicum  omnibus  esse.” — Epist.  6. 


794  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

to  Goethe,  in  mutual  services  between  self  and  the 
world,  both  parties  are  most  richly  benefited — a 
conclusion  which  can  hardly  be  contested. 

As  we  should  expect  from  his  mobile  temperament 
and  manifold  interests,  a hard-and-fast  religious 
or  philosophic  creed  was  alien  alike  to  his  modes 
of  thinking  and  of  feeling.  In  his  attitude  to  the 
primal  cause  of  things,  as  he  tells  us,  he  was  poly- 
theist, deist,  and  pantheist  according  to  the  point 
of  view  from  which  he  chose  to  regard  it.  Speculation 
regarding  the  absolute  he  consistently  put  aside 
as  unprofitable,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  did  not 
ignore  it.  “I  dare  not  talk  of  the  absolute  in  a 
theoretical  sense,”  he  said.  “ I may  remark,  however, 
that  whoever  has  recognized  it  in  the  appearance 
and  kept  it  ever  before  his  eyes  will  derive  very 
great  gain  therefrom.”  In  accordance  with  this 
conviction  was  his  lifelong  attitude  to  the  speculative 
thinkers  whose  writings  he  turned  over  at  some 
temporary  prompting.  To  none  of  them,  not  even 
to  Spinoza  who  made  the  strongest  appeal  to  him, 
did  he  ever  give  systematic  study,  though  from  all 
of  them  he  drew  what  helped  him  in  his  own  line 
of  thinking.  In  his  own  reflections  on  the  manifold 
subjects  which  he  touched,  the  influence  of  Plato 
and  Aristotle  is  more  apparent  than  the  influence 
of  any  of  the  modern  philosophers. 

If  strenuous  ethical  purpose  and  profound 
reverence  before  the  supreme  reason  which  he 
recognized  as  animating  the  universe  be  the  marks 
of  a religious  nature,  then  Goethe  was  essentially 
religious.  Not  Milton  himself  took  life  more  seriously 
or  was  more  deeply  convinced  that  to  write  well 
“ in  laudable  things  ” rigorous  self-discipline  was 
indispensable.  “ When  I am  not  moral,”  he  said, 
“ I am  weak.”  We  have  seen  how  with  advancing 
years  he  came  to  regard  Christianity  with  growing 
sympathy.  He  spoke  of  its  Founder  with  reverence 
as  the  proclaimer  of  the  gospel  of  love,  the  highest 
that  had  been  given  to  man — love  being  the  element 


795 


HIS  RELIGIOUS  CREED 

in  which  human  nature  can  alone  freely  develop 
its  powers.  “ Abide  fast  in  the  bond  of  earnestness 
and  love ; all  besides  is  emptiness  and  sorrow,” 
was  his  counsel  to  Schiller,  and  it  was  a counsel 
on  which  he  insistently  dwelt,  as  most  constantly 
to  be  borne  in  mind  in  dealing  with  ourselves  and 
with  others.  Nevertheless,  to  the  last  he  was 
divided  by  a gulf  from  historic  Christianity.  The 
conception  of  a supernatural  will  intervening  in  the 
affairs  of  men  was  repellent  to  his  feeling  and  in- 
conceivable to  his  intellect.  To  the  Christian  view 
of  human  nature  and  its  doctrine  of  sin,  with  the 
necessity  for  repentance,  he  was  equally  antipathetic. 
Self-renunciation  he  held  to  be  a necessity  as  life 
has  to  be  lived,  but  it  is  to  be  practised,  not  with  the 
ascetic  intention  of  self-mortification,  but  as  a 
means  of  adding  to  the  joy  of  living.  Piety  he 
regarded  not  as  an  end  in  itself,  but  only  as  one 
among  other  means  of  attaining  the  highest  culture 
by  the  peace  of  mind  it  brings ; by  making  it  an 
end  itself  we  run  the  risk  of  falling  into  the  peculiarly 
Christian  vice  of  hypocrisy.  In  the  last  analysis, 
submission,  he  maintained,  is  the  all-important 
lesson  which  any  religion  can  instil  into  its  believers. 

In  various  writings  and  conversations  he  has 
indicated  his  religious  creed,  but  nowhere,  perhaps, 
more  explicitly  than  in  a letter  to  Sulpiz  Boisseree, 
written  a year  before  his  death.  “ From  religious 
feeling,”  he  wrote,  “ no  man  will  hold  himself  aloof  ; 
it  is  impossible  for  him,  however,  to  contain  this 
feeling  within  himself,  and  he,  therefore,  seeks  or 
makes  proselytes.  The  latter  is  not  my  way ; 
the  former  I have  faithfully  tried  to  carry  out, 
and  from  the  creation  of  the  world  I have  found  no 
confession  which  I could  have  accepted  in  its  entirety. 
Now  I learn  in  my  old  age  of  a sect,  the  Hypsistarians,1 
who,  hemmed  in  by  heathens,  Jews,  and  Christians, 
declared  that  they  would  treasure,  admire,  and 
honour  the  best,  the  most  perfect  that  might  come 

1 A Cappadocian  aect  of  the  fourth  century. 


796  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

to  their  knowledge,  and,  in  so  far  as  it  must  stand 
in  near  relations  with  the  Godhead,  pay  it  reverence. 
Then  at  once  a cheerful  light  broke  on  me  from  a 
dark  age,  for  I felt  that  all  my  life  long  I had  been 
endeavouring  to  qualify  myself  for  a Hypsistarian. 
That,  however,  costs  no  little  effort,  for  how  comes 
man,  in  the  limitations  of  his  individuality,  to  know 
what  is  more  excellent  ? ” 

It  is  a saying  of  Goethe’s  own  that  great  men 
are  but  human  beings  on  a large  scale,  with  the 
virtues  and  vices  of  ordinary  mortals,  but  in  greater 
volume.  That  he  himself  had  grave  defects  of 
temper  and  will  he  was  fully  aware,  and  he  made 
frank  confession  of  them.  That  he  had  with  difficulty 
managed  his  own  life  and  had  made  frequent  mistakes 
in  the  conduct  of  it,  was,  in  truth,  the  very  reason 
why  he  so  incessantly  reflected  on  the  varieties  of 
human  experience  and  the  lessons  it  suggests.  It 
was  in  his  dealings  with  women  that  his  passionate 
and  susceptible  nature  was  most  exposed  to  in- 
considerate courses.  With  hardly  a single  woman 
who  excited  his  passion  were  his  relations  such  as 
mere  right  reason  wrould  approve,  but  we  may 
remember  that  men  of  like  stature  and  like  gifts, 
Dante,  Sophocles,  and  Plato,  were  as  “great  lovers  ” 
as  he.  Moreover,  in  judging  Goethe’s  relations  to 
women  it  is  just  to  recall  the  notions  that  prevailed 
regarding  the  conjugal  tie  in  the  society  around 
him.  Schiller  and  Fritz  Jacobi,  men  of  the  loftiest 
ideals,  indulged  in  similar  irregularities  ; and  the 
severest  of  moralists,  Kant,  could  write  this  sentence  : 
“The  word  conjugium  itself  implies  that  two  married 
people  are  yoked  together,  and  to  be  thus  yoked 
together  cannot  be  called  bliss.”  We  may  even 
conjecture  that,  had  Wordsworth  retired  from  Paris 
to  Weimar  instead  of  to  the  Lake  Country,  his  life 
might  have  been  less  austere. 

Certain  individual  actions  of  Goethe  have  done 
more  than  anything  else  to  create  an  unfavourable 
judgment  on  his  character  as  a whole.  His  desertion 


CRITICISMS  ANSWERED 


797 


of  Friederike  Brion  he  himself  condemned,  but  he  may 
at  least  claim  the  merit  of  candour  in  confessing  his 
blameworthiness,  as  it  is  only  from  his  own  hand  we 
have  the  story.  Moreover,  the  manner  in  which  he 
was  afterwards  received  by  herself  and  her  family  seems 
to  imply  that  he  had  not  done  her  an  irreparable 
wrong.  His  conduct  to  another  of  his  loves,  Lotte 
Buff,  was  strictly  honourable,  for  he  desisted  from 
his  attentions  to  her,  though  after  a severe  struggle.. 
As  he  came  to  recognize,  his  relations  to  Frau  von 
Stein  were  an  error  of  passion,  though  they  may 
have  brought  him  intellectual  gain;  but  for  their 
subsequent  estrangement  she  had  the  greater 
responsibility,  as  the  wife  of  another  and  as  having 
greater  experience  of  the  world.  For  no  part  of 
his  conduct  has  he  been  more  severely  condemned 
than  for  his  failure  to  visit  his  mother  except  at 
long  intervals,  but  it  is  a curious  commentary  on 
the  world’s  judgments  that  Dr.  Johnson  has’ escaped 
censure  for  the  same  filial  neglect,  in  his  case  even 
less  pardonable.  We  cannot  admire  Goethe’s 
procuring  or  sanctioning  the  dismissal  of  Fichte 
from  his  professorship  in  the  University  of  Jena, 
as  the  opinions  Fichte  was  charged  with  teaching 
were  no  more  subversive  of  existing  society  than 
his  own.  At  the  same  time,  it  has  to  be  said  in 
his  defence  that  the  action  he  took  was  imperative 
in  the  interests  both  of  the  State  and  of  the  University. 
For  many  persons,  both  in  this  country  and  in 
Germany,  it  has  been  an  unpardonable  offence  in 
Goethe  that  he  was  devoid  of  the  sentiment  of 
patriotism  and  gave  no  helping  hand  to  his  country- 
men in  their  national  uprising  against  the  domination 
of  France.  As  has  been  already  said,  however, 
Goethe  grew  up  in  a period  when  there  was  no 
German  nation  and  when  patriotism  was  non-existent. 
Moreover,  it  may  be  doubted  if  he  would  have  done 
better  for  his  own  country  and  the  world,  had  he 
followed  the  example  of  Milton  and  given  the  best 
years  of  his  life  to  the  writing  of  controversial 


798  LAST  MONTHS— CONCLUSION 

pamphlets,  the  only  service  he  could  have  performed. 
For  work  of  such  a kind,  as  he  himself  knew  and 
candidly  owned,  he  was  unfitted  alike  by  temperament 
and  by  previous  discipline,  and  it  was  with  considerate 
deliberation  that  he  chose  to  persist  in  the  paths 
he  had  hitherto  followed  and  to  give  of  his  best  in 
the  fields  which  nature  had  assigned  to  him. 

Those  who  have  made  the  attempt  to  form  some 
conception  of  Goethe’s  work  as  a whole  will  not  be 
disposed  to  contest  the  judgment  of  one  of  his  most 
stringent  critics,  Edmond  Scherer — that  he  was 
“ one  of  the  exceeding  great  among  the  sons  of  men.” 
For  productiveness,  combined  with  originality  in 
so  many  fields,  he  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  his 
parallel.  His  work  in  science  is  overshadowed  by 
his  work  in  literature,  but  it  is  acknowledged  that 
in  science  he  was  a distinguished  pioneer.  His 
discoveries  of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants,  of  the 
intermaxillary  bone,  of  the  organic  connection 
between  the  skull  and  the  vertebra,  are  of  high 
importance  in  the  history  of  the  sciences.  His 
theory  of  light  was  mistaken,  but  by  his  investigations 
into  the  nature  of  colours  he  became  the  founder  of 
physiological  optics.  In  every  department  of  nature- 
study  to  which  he  turned  his  attention  he  attained 
valuable  apercus.  In  geology  he  independently 
divined  the  significance  of  fossils,  and  saw  the 
necessity  of  accepting  the  existence  of  an  ice  age. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  to  urge  the  erection  of  meteoro- 
logical stations,  and  to  advocate  the  use  of  museums 
for  teaching.  In  his  scientific  conceptions  he  was 
ahead  of  the  great  majority  of  the  specialists  of 
his  time.  Almost  alone  he  rejected  the  teleological 
view  of  nature,  and  in  his  own  researches  he  had 
distinctly  before  him  the  idea  of  evolution,  though 
he  could  not  realize  it  in  the  fullness  of  its  scope, 
as  subsequently  discovered  and  expounded  by 
Darwin.  Be  it  added  that  for  non-scientific  readers 
his  writings  on  nature  and  its  processes  have  a 
peculiar  and  permanent  interest.  His  heart  as 


799 


LEGACY  TO  THE  WORLD 

well  as  his  intellect  was  in  all  his  nature-study,  and, 
seeing  her  with  a poet’s  as  well  as  with  a student’s 
eye,  he  communicates,  as  only  a poet  can,  the  sense 
of  her  being  “ a living  garment,”  in  endless  and 
ceaseless  change. 

His  contributions  to  the  theory  and  practice  of 
art  form  a large  proportion  of  his  work,  as  strenuously 
applied  as  in  the  case  of  science.  It  is  recognized 
that  in  this  field,  also,  he  fell  into  errors  of  fact, 
due  less  to  his  own  fault  than  to  the  lack  of  knowledge 
which  was  not  at  his  disposal,  and  that  he  advanced 
theories  which  have  not  been  generally  accepted. 
But  what  he  wrote  on  the  art  of  antiquity  marks 
one  of  the  epochs  through  which  the  moderns  have 
passed  in  their  endeavour  to  comprehend  it.  It  is, 
however,  by  his  work  in  literature  that  he  mainly 
impresses  the  world  ; for  his  place  among  the  small 
band  of  poets  who  speak  to  collective  humanity 
may  now  be  considered  assured.  Of  the  select 
company  in  which  he  stands  he  has  produced  the 
least  perfect  works  on  a large  scale,  but  he  has  one 
advantage  over  them  all.  Coming  latest,  he  stood 
on  a height,  whence  he  could  survey  human 
experience  with  more  comprehensive  vision,  and 
he  has  given  to  the  world  a richer  store  of  truths 
that  lighten  the  ways  of  men  in  their  “ mortal 
passage.” 


INDEX 


Acbilleis,  501,  733 
Adler  und  Taube,  135,  751 
Aeolsharfen,  621 

Alexander,  Czar  of  Russia  at  Erfurt 
Congress,  545  ; at  Weimar,  547 
Alexis  und  Dora,  504 
Allerdings,  625 

Allgemeine  Idteratu/rzeitung,  471, 
475 

Amiel,  Henri  F.,  criticism  of 
Goethe,  786 
Amyntas,  504 

Anatomy,  study  of,  272,  403,  798 
Apennines,  327 

Aristotle,  description  of  a “ good 
man,”  793  n. 

Arndt,  Ernst  M.,  on  the  appearance 
of  Goethe,  579  ; criticism  on  him, 
595  ; at  Wiesbaden,  596 
Arnim,  Achim  von,  532  ; marriage, 
542 

Arnim,  Bettina  von,  2 n. ; Goethes 
Briefwechsel  mit  einem  Kind, 
542  n. ; letter  from  Beethoven  to, 
576 

Arnold,  Gottfried,  Impartial  History 
of  the  Church  and  of  Heretics,  47, 

157 

Arnold,  Matthew,  opinion  of  Goethe, 
4,  750,  785 ; of  Der  Wanderer, 
102 ; essay  “ A French  Critic  on 
Goethe,”  363  n.;  criticism  on  Das 
Mdrchen,  434  n. ; Selections  f rom 
Wordsworth,  633  n. ; opinion  of 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre,  694  ; 
essay  on  Scherer,  749 ; “ St.  Paul 
and  Protestanism,”  776 
Arnold,  Thomas,  2 ; criticism  on  the 
Prologue  in  Heaven,  784 
Assisi,  327 

Athenxum,  the,  517,  521,  733 
Aufgeregten,  Die,  421-433 
Auf  Miedings  Tod,  303 
Augerau,  Marshal,  at  Weimar,  534 

VOL.  II. 


Austerlitz,  victory  of,  531 
Austin,  Mrs.,  Characteristics  of 
Goethe,  537  n. 

Austria,  aggressive  policy,  271 ; 
negotiations  with  Prussia,  406 ; 
war  with  France,  415,  531 
Austria,  Emperor  of,  at  Carlsbad, 
576 

Austria,  Empress  of,  tribute  to,  573  ; 
at  Teplitz,  576 

Austria,  Marie  Louise,  marriage,  576 

Baldensperger,  F.,  Goethe  en 
France,  785  n. 

Ballade,  611 

Basedow,  Johann  Bernhard,  at 
Frankfort,  166 ; characteristics, 
167 ; at  Ems,  167 ; aversion  to 
the  dogma  of  the  Trinity,  168  ; 
voyage  down  the  Rhine,  169,  595 ; 
at  Miilheim,  170  n. 

Baume,  An  rneine,  289 
Bautzen,  defeat  at,  578 
Beaumarchais,  Memoires  de  Pierre 
de,  147  _ 

Beaurepaire,  Commander,  surrenders 
Yerdun,  417  ; shoots  himself,  417 
Beer,  Michael,  Der  Paria,  628  n. 
Beethoven,  Ludwig  von,  composes 
music  for  Egmont,  356  n.,  576 ; 
meeting  with  Goethe,  576 
i Behrisch,  influence  on  Goethe,  28 ; 
correspondence  with  him,  28,  30 
Belcehrte,  Die,  507 
| Belinden,  An,  185,  187 
Berendis,  Hieronymus  Dieterich, 
515  n. 

Bergmann,  De  attractionibus  elec- 
tivis,  558  n. 

1 Bergson,  M.,  article  in  the  Hibbert 
Journal,  extract  from,  129  n. 
Berka,  582,  591 

Berlichingen,  Gottfried  von,  drama 
on,  89-93 

2 D 


801 


802 


INDEX 


Berlin,  248 

Bernstoff,  Countess  von,  628 
Berthier,  Alexandre,  at  Erfurt,  546 
Biedermann,  56  n.,  59  m.,  72  n.,  104  m., 
112  n.,  165  166  m.,  173  n.,  174  n., 

199  n.,  202  n.,  209  n. 

Bielschowsky,  Goethe,  132  n. 
Bliiclier,  Marshal  von,  at  Carlsbad, 
607 

Blumenbach,  Johann  F.,  Professor  of 
Natural  History  at  Gottingen,  463 

Blumenmadchen,  Her  neue  Pausias 
und  seine,  504 

Bode,  Wilhelm,  Charlotte  von  Stein, 
778 

Boerhave,  Hermann,  47 ; Institutes 
of  Medicine  and  Aphorisms,  47 
Bohemia,  573 

Bohme,  Frau,  24 ; influence  on 
Goethe,  26  ; death,  29 
Bohme,  Prof.,  24 

Bois,  H.  C.,  impressions  of  Goethe, 
177 

Bois -Raymond,  criticism  on  Goethe, 
513  n. 

Boisseree,  Sulpiz,  interviews  with 
Goethe,  574 ; collection  of  pictures, 
592 ; tour  with  Goethe,  596 ; at 
Weimaiy651;  letters  from  Goethe, 
781,  782,  795 
Bologna,  327 

Bonaparte,  Louis,  King  of  Holland, 
46  n. 

Bonn,  169 

Borne,  Ludwig,  attacks  on  Goethe, 
497,  786 

Bosanquet,  B.,  Suggestions  in  Ethics, 
692  m. 

Boswell,  James,  compared  with 
Eckermann,  619 ; characteristics, 
620  ; Life  of  Johnson,  620 
Botany,  study  of,  273 
Bourbon- Conti,  Mimoires  historiques 
de  Stephanie-Louise  de,  494 
Bradley,  A.  C.,  Appearance  and 
Reality,  692  n. 

B rant  von  Corinth , Die,  505 
Brenner  Pass,  324 
Brenta,  the,  326 

Brentano,  Bettina.  541 ; relations 
with  Goethe,  542;  marriage,  542. 
See  Arnim 

Brentano,  Clemens,  532  n. 

Brentano,  Peter,  137,  541,  564 
Breslau,  406 

Brief  des  Pastors,  122,  163 


Brion,  Friederike,  relations  with 
Goethe,  70-74,  182  n.,  663 ; at 
Strassburg,  72;  deserted  by  Goethe, 
86,  723,  746,  797 ; meeting  with 
him,  257 

Brocken,  the,  245 ; ascent  of  the, 
247 

Brown,  Prof.  Hume,  death,  v..  74S 
Brucker,  J.  J.,  History  of  Philoso- 
phy, 410 

Bruno,  Giordano,  577  n. 

Brunswick,  Duke  of,  invasion  of 
France,  417 

Buff,  Charlotte,  relations  with 
Goethe,  108-111,  117,  664,  797; 
marriage,  117 

Button,  G.  L.  L.,  Les  Epoques  de  la 
Nature,  262,  273 
Burgergeneral,  429-431 
Burger,  G.  A.,  interview  with 
Goethe,  474 

Burns,  Robert,  estimate  of,  631 
Byron,  Lord,  character,  19 ; Corsair 
and  Lara,  612 ; influence  on 
Goethe,  632  ; criticisms  on.  633 ; 
stanzas  from,  634 ; letters  to  him, 
634 

Cagliostro,  the  arch-charlatan,  279, 
297,  337  «.,  427 

Caird,  Edward,  opinion  of  Goethe, 

! 785 

Calderon,  The  Steadfast  Prince,  538, 

| 540 

Calvert,  George,  on  the  appearance 
of  Goethe,  639 

; Campbell,  Thomas,  estimate  of,  631 
i Capri,  338 
Capua,  336 

Carlsbad,  284,  526,  532,539,  543, 573, 
575,  576;  conference  at,  617 
Carlsruhe,  200 

Carlyle,  Mrs.,  seal  designed  by.  779 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  vii.,  305 ; trans- 
lation of  Das  Mdrclien,  434; 
“ Yon  dem  Berge  zu  den  Huge  In,” 
626;  Wilhelm  Meister,  635,  696, 
702,  704;  criticism  of  it,  68S  »., 
693 ; translation  of  Faust,  765 ; 
essay  on  the  Helena,  766;  birthday 
letter  to  Goethe,  779 ; opinion  of 
him,  785 
Cassel,  464 
! Catania,  337 

: Cellini,  Benvenuto,  translation  of  Iris 
autobiography,  482,  508-510,  660 


INDEX 


803 


Cento,  327 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  Parson’s  Tale, 
147  n. 

Chinese  literature,  study  of,  590,  656 
Chinesisch  - Deutsche  Jahres - und 

Tageszeiten,  656 
Chuquet,  Arthur,  418  n. 

Cicero,  De  Senectute,  781 
Claudine  von  Villa  Bella,  193-195, 
306  n.,  340 
Clavigo,  147-153 

Clodius,  Prof.,  24;  criticism  on  the 
poems  of  Goethe,  34 
Coblenz,  169,  420 

Coleridge,  A.  W.,  translation  of 
Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  662  n. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  Fire,  Famine  and. 
Slaughter,  631 ; criticism  of  Faust, 
Part  I.,  784 

Cologne,  170,  172,  595 ; Cathedral, 
172,574 
Constance,  345 

Conybeare,  Mrs.  P.  C.,  502  n. 

Cotta,  the  publisher,  482,  512,  644, 
732,  735 

Coudray,  Chief  Architect,  637 
Cousin,  Victor,  impressions  of 
Goethe,  639 
Cracow,  406 

Cranach,  Lucas,  537,  592 
Cuvier,  L.  C.,  controversy  with  St, 
Hilaire,  654,  781,  782 

Dante,  Alighieri,  Divina  Commedia, 
736,  747 

Darmstadt,  199;  Gemeinschaft  der 
Heiligen,  99 

Darmstadt,  Landgravine  Caroline 
of,  225 

Darn,  P.  A.,  at  Erfurt,  546 
Darwin,  Charles,  discovery  of 
evolution,  798 

Daudet,  A.,  opinion  of  Prometheus, 
133  7!. 

D’Azyr,  Vicq,  anatomical  discovery, 
273  n. 

De  Candolle,  Alphonse,  646 
Delavigne,  Casimir,  Le  Paria, 
628  n. 

Delf,  Mdlle.,  at  Frankfort,  197 ; 

Heidelberg,  211 
Dem  31  Oktober  1817..  611 
Dentzner,  General,  at  Weimar,  538 
De  Quincey,  Thomas,  criticism  on 
Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  664  ; on 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre,  693 


Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  5,  31,38  n., 
44  n.,  55  n,,  75  n.,  525,  587,  629, 
; 636,  650,  660-666 

Diderot,  Denis,  Le  Neveu  de  Samoa u, 
translation  of,  508,  510;  Essai  sur 
la  Peinture,  510  n. 

Divan,  the  translation  of,  590 
i Divan,  West-ostlicher,  590,  593,  596- 
607-611,  614  SfoVi 

Dornburg,  646 

Doudan,  X.,  Melanges  et  Lettres, 
21  n. ; criticism  of  Wilhelm 
i Meisters  Lehrjahre,  693 
I Dowden,  Prof.,  785 
Dresden,  406,  579 

Drvden,  John,  Albion  and  Albanvs 
307 

I Duisburg,  420 

Dumouriez,  Commander,  at  the 
battle  of  Yalmy,  418 
1 Diisseldorf,  420 

Eckeriiann,  Johann  P..  secretary  to 
Goethe,  1. 14, 35, 143, 146  ».,  182  n. , 
294  n.,  432,  444  n.,  446  n.,  447  n., 
450,  461,  485 ; friendship  with 
Goethe,  618 ; history,  618 ; record 
of  Goethe’s  conversations,  619, 
620,  739 ; compared  to  Boswell, 
619 ; characteristics,  620 ; relations 
with  August  Goethe,  648 ; on 
Goethe’s  method  of  writing 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre, 
696 

Eckhart,  Der  treue,  587 
Egmont,  210,  212,  340,  347-357, 
724;  criticisms  on,  355 
Ehrenbreitstein,  114 
Eins  und  Alles,  751 
Einsiedeln,  204 
Eisenach,  244 
Elberfeld,  170 

Elective  Affinities,  314,  558—569 ; 

criticisms  on,  569 
Elegies,  Second  Book  of,  504 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.,  saying  of,  77; 
criticism  on  Goethe,  666,  687, 787 ; 
opinion  of  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Lehrjahre,  694 
Emmendingen,  200 
Ems,  166, 168,  174 
Engel,  Edward,  Goethe,  Der  Mann 
und  das  Werlc,  778 
Epimenides  Enoachen,  Des,  584- 
586 

Erfurt,  Congress  at,  545 


804 


INDEX 


Ergo  bibamus,  587 
Erinnerung,  295 
Erlkonig,  293,  294,  751 
Erste  Bekanntschaft  rnit  Schiller, 
440  n. 

Erwin  und  Elmire,  187-189,  306  a. ; 

recast,  195  n.,  340 
Ewphrosyne,  459,  504 
Euripides,  lphigenia  in  Aidis, 
781 ; in  Tauris,  358 
Everett,  Edward,  at  Weimar,  604  n. 

Fahlmer,  Joanna,  171 ; letters  from 
Goethe,  182  n.,  189  n.,  201  n. ; 
marriage,  257,  280.  See  Schlosser 
Falk,  J.  W.,  347  n.,  537 
Fan-palm,  specimen  of,  326,  334 
Farbenlehre,  410,  463,  481,  527,  538, 
551,  570-573 
Farie,  Robert,  424  n. 

Fa stnacht spiel,  Ein,  125 
Faust,  Part  I.,  49,  80,  212-216,  481, 
527,  538,  551,  719-747,  750,  752 ; 
commentaries  on,  740 ; Part  II., 
525,  636,  655,  748-778;  Act  I., 
753-757 ; Act  II.,  757-761;  Act 
III.,  761-769;  Act  IV.,  769-771  ; 
Act  V.,  771-773 ; translations, 
765  ; defects,  774 
Faust,  tin  Fragment,  727,  735 
Faustima,  liaison  with  Goethe,  393 
Ferrara,  327 

Fichte,  Prof.  Johann  Gottlieb, 
philosophy,  469;  at  Jena  Uni- 
versity, 470,  520 ; dismissal,  470, 
797 ; opinion  of  Die  natiirliche 
Tochter,  498 ; Wissenschaftslehre, 
521  n.,  691 

Fichtelgebirge,  the,  272  n.,  274 
Fischer,  K.,  726 
Fischer,  Der,  293,  294 
Fischerin,  Die , 309 
Fitzgerald,  Edward,  Omar  Khay- 
yam, 518  n. ; dislike  of  funerals, 
645  n. 

Flachsland,  Caroline,  99 ; impres- 
sions of  Goethe,  100 
Flaubert,  G.,  opinion  of  Prometheus, 
133  n. 

Florence,  327,  345 

Fouque,  Baron  de  la  Untie,  at 
Weimar.  581 

France,  war  with  Austria,  415,  531 ; 
Reptiblic  founded,  418 ; peace 
with  Prussia,  538  552 

Francis,  Emperor  of  Austria,  533 


Frankfurt-on-the-Main,  1,  22.  44. 
80,  113,  205,  256,  415,  457,  591 ; 
situation,  2 ; population,  2 ; occu- 
pied by  the  French  troops,  14, 419 ; 
Herrnhut  Community,  46 ; fair  at, 
207  ; evacuated,  423 ; theatre,  4-58 
Frankfurter  Gelehrte  Anzeigen, 
121 

Frankreich,  Campagne  in,  413  n., 
414  n.,  417  n.,  418  n.,  429  n..  434, 
639 

Frederick  the  Great,  King  of 
Prussia,  13,  222,  249 ; criticism  on 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  313,  583 
Frederick  William,  King  of  Prussia, 
camp  near  Breslau,  405  ; invasion 
of  France,  417 ; siege  of  Mainz, 
423  ; entry  into  Dresden,  579 
Frederick  the  Wise,  Elector  of 
Saxony, 537  n. 

French  plays,  467,  499 ; revolution, 
outbreak,  403  n.,  415,  424-427, 
487 ; epigram  on,  404 ; troops 
occupy  Frankfort,  14,  419 ; evacu- 
ate it,  423 ; occupy  Dresden,  579 ; 
expelled  from  Germany,  582 
Freunde  in  England,  An  die  neun- 
zehn,  779 

Fritsch,  Baron  von,  643 
Fromman,  bookseller  at  Jena,  540 

Gall,  Dr.,  528 

Gallitzin,  Princess,  varied  spiritual 
history,  421 ; visit  from  Goethe, 
421 

Garbenheim,  108 

Garda,  Lake,  325 

Gedichte,  751 

Gefunden,  580 

Geheimnisse,  Die,  300-302 

Gellert,  C.  F. , at  Leipzig,  23,  24 

Geneva,  258 

Geology,  study  of,  274,  798 
German  Architecture,  essav  on,  69. 
322 

German  Empire,  dissolution,  533 
Germany,  literature,  35,  65,  95,  450, 
613 ; alliance  with  Prussia.  271 ; 
War  of  Liberation,  570,  5S2,  589. 
600 ; expulsion  of  the  French,  582 
Geschichte  meines  botanischen  Sta- 
diums, 611 
Geschivister.  Die,  311 
Girgenti,  337 

Gleirn.  Ludwig,  at  Weimar,  243 
Globe,  the,  653 


INDEX 


805 


Glocke,  Die,  Epilog’ue  to,  551 

Glocke,  Die  Wandelnde,  587 

Gochhausen,  Luise  von,  212  n. 

Godwin,  Mary,  385  n. 

Goethe,  Frau  Aja,  relations  with 
her  son,  6,  416 ; characteristics,  6, 
544 ; religious  views,  11 ; opinion 
of  the  Duchess  Amalia,  223 ; 
receives  the  Duke  of  Weimar,  and 
her  son,  256 ; refuses  to  leave 
Frankfort,  419  n. ; treatment  of 
Christiane,  457 ; on  the  recovery 
of  her  son,  462 ; death,  543 ; 
directions  for  her  funeral,  543 ; 
affection  for  her  son,  544,  787 

Goethe,  August  Walther,  birth, .387 ; 
godfather,  387 ; travels,  463,  648  ; 
illness,  495 ; at  Heidelberg  Uni- 
versity, 543;  prevented  from  join- 
ing the  War  of  Liberation,  581; 
marriage,  605;  character,  605, 
648 ; relations  with  his  wife,  605  ; 
treatment  of  his  father,  623 ; 
death,  641,  649 

Goethe,  Cornelia,  7 ; sympathy  with 
her  brother,  8, 85, 118,  438  ; letters 
from  him,  29,  34 ; relations  with 
her  father,  44 ; marriage,  119. 
See  Schlosser 

Goethe,  Herr,  Imperial  Councillor, 
5 ; relations  with  his  son,  5,  17,  44, 
53,  81,  85.  118  ; characteristics,  5 ; 
scheme  of  education  for  his  son, 
9 ; aversion  to  the  nobility,  179 ; 
opinion  of  Lili  Schonemann,  198  ; 
opposition  to  his  son  going  to 
Weimar,  210  ; mental  decay,  256; 
death,  256  n, ; interest  in  Fgmont, 
349 

Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang,  birth- 
place, 1-3 ; date  of  his  birth,  3 ; 
relations  with  his  father,  5,  17,  44, 
53,  81,  85,  118  ; mother,  6 ; lack  of 
discipline,  7 ; sister,  7 ; education,  9, 
25 ; religious  views,  10-13.  43,  47, 
55-57,  112,  122,  297-300,  303,  576, 
628, 775-777,  794-796 ; influence  of 
certain  events,  13-15 ; visits  to  the 
French  theatre,  15 ; relations  with 
Gretchen,  16 ; at  Leipzig  Uni- 
versity, 17,  24,  218 ; self-directed 
development,  18 ; characteristics, 
18,  24,  59,  111,  217,  224,  227,  265, 
282,  378,  396-399,  442-444,  637, 
788-794;  “chameleon"  tempera- 
ment, 19,  25,  45,  218,  746,  789  ; 


interest  in  science,  20,  47, 237,  258, 
261,  272,  273,  274,  334,  408,  420, 
446,  653,  781,  798 ; poems,  20,  30, 
35,  36,  39-41,  77,  135,  173,  183- 
186,  203,  208  n.,  287  -306,  391,503- 
507,  587,  611,  621,  625,  647,  656- 
658,  723,  751 ; life  in  Leipzig,  21- 
42,  663,  720  ; attends  lectures,  25  ; 
change  in  his  dress,  25-27 ; rela- 
tions with  K.  Schonkopf,  27-32, 
50 ; influence  of  Behrisch,  28 ; of 
F.  Oeser,  33;  interest  in  art,  33, 
51,  120,  241,  272,  321-323,  799; 
plays,  35,  37-39, 187, 310-314, 467 ; 
return  to  Frankfort,  42-53,  80, 
113,  174,  196,  205,  256,  415,  424, 
457,  591 ; bodily  and  mental  con- 
dition, 42,  43,  81-83 ; illness,  45, 
461,  478,  495,  607,  623,  650,  782 ; 
study  of  literature,  51, 106,  629  ; at 
Strassburg,  53-73,  200,  219,  257, 

663,  720;  Licentiate  of  Laws,  54, 
73,  84 ; nervous  irritability,  56 ; 
friendship  with  Dr.  Salzmann, 
58 ; with  J.  Stilling,  59-61  ; 
appearance,  60  n.,  227,  398,  443, 
550,  603,  639-641,  789  ; relations 
with  Herder,  61-67 ; Gotz  von 
Berlichingen,  66,  68,  80,  83,  89-96, 
113,  123,  347 ; Faust,  68,  80,  212- 
216,  319,  551,  636,  650,  655,  719- 
747, 748-779 ; impressions  of  Strass- 
burg cathedral,  68,  322  ; essay  On 
German  Architecture,  69,  322  ; re- 
lations with  F.  Brion,  70-74, 86, 182 
n.,  257, 663,  746, 797 ; at  Sesenheim, 
70-73,  256 ; instinct  for  self- 
mastery,  74,  75,  87,  242,  249,  262, 
264,  294, 322, 792 ; method  of  curing 
his  jarred  nerves,  75 ; tempera- 
ment, 76,  790,  794;  Wilkommen 
und  Abscliied,  78 ; Werther,  80,  83, 
105,  116,  136-147,  316-318 ; Dis- 
putation, 84 ; legal  cases,  84 ; 
panegyric  on  Shakespeare,  88 ; 
friendship  with  Merck,  97-99 ; at 
Darmstadt,  99  ; Wanderers  Sturm- 
lied,  101 ; Der  Wanderer,  102  ; at 
Wetzlar,  105-110;  practical  jokes, 
107,  196  n.,  202  n. ; translation  of 
the  Deserted,  Village,  107 ; rela- 
tions with  C.  Buff,  108-111,  117, 

664,  797 ; friendship  with  Frau 
von  la  Roche,  114  ; relations  with 
Maximiliane,  115,  137 ; contribu- 
tions to  the  Frankfurter  Gelehrte 


806 


INDEX 


Anzeigen,  121 ; Brief  des  Pastors,  \ 
122,  163 ; Zwei  wiclitige  Usher, 
etc.,  123 ; Das  Jahrmarktsfest,  124 ; 
Ein  Fastnachtspiel,  125  ; Satyros, 
126 ; Gotter,  Helden,  und  Wieland, 
127  ; Prometheus,  128-133  ; pro- 
jected drama  of  Mahomet,  133 ; 
wish  to  commit  suicide,  142 : 
Clavigo,  147-153;  influence  of 
Spinoza,  154-156 ; Der  Ewige  Jude, 
156-160;  relations  with  Lavater, 
163,  202 ; letter  to  him,  164 ; at 
Ems,  166,  168, 174 ; meeting  with 
Basedow,  167 ; voyage  down  the 
Rhine,  169,  595 ; dinner  at 

Coblenz,  169;  at  Elberfeld,  170; 
meeting'  with  Fritz  Jacobi,  171— 
174;  at  Cologne,  172,  595;  rela- 
tions with  Klopstock,  176;  An 
Schu-ager  Kronos,  176;  friend- 
ship with  Major  von  Knebel,  178, 
280;  relations  with  Lili  Schone- 
mann,  182-197,  206,  257,  288,  663; 
correspondence  with  Countess 
Stolberg,  186,  198 ; Erwin  und 
Elmire,  187-189,  340  ; Stella,  189- 
193 ; Claudine  von  Villa  Bella, 
193-195,  340 ; Lilis  Park,  195 
208  n. ; at  Offenbach,  196,  206 ; 
betrothal,  197  ; travels,  199 ; last 
meeting  with  his  sister,  200 ; at 
Zurich,  202 ; tour  with  Passavant, 
202-204;  Egmont,  210,  212,  340, 
347-357,  724 ; parting  with  Lili, 
211 ; at  Heidelberg,  211 ; Weimar, 
211.  345,  407,  422,  466,  781 ; Ur- 
fa ust,  212-216,  319,  721-723,  727, 
738 ; relations  with  the  Duke  of  i 
Weimar,  220,  224,  241,  269 ; 
Tlmenau,  225,  269-271;  relations 
with  C.  Vulpius,  226, 382, 387-391, 
476 ; life  at  the  Court  of  Weimar, 
228-285  ; presented  with  a house, 
229,  236  ; relations  with  Frau  von 
Stein,  231-235,  242,  281-285,  289, 
378,  380-387,  797 ; correspondence 
with  her,  233,  241,  282,  383-385 ; 
appointed  Geheimer  Legationsrat, 
236,  239 ; oflicial  duties,  238,  256, 
259-261,  283,  379;  ideal  of  j 

Reinigkeit,  239,  248,  357  ; Privy  , 
Councillor,  239,  255 ; President  of 
the  Council,  240  ; at  Ilmenau,  240,  J 
580,  780  ; death  of  his  sister,  243 ; I 
ascent  of  the  Brocken,  247 ; at  . 
Berlin,  248,  583 ; chief  of  the  War 


Commission,  251 ; retrospect.  252  ; 
tour  with  the  Duke  of  Weimar, 
255-259 ; pet-name,  256 ; in 
Switzerland,  257,  458-461 ; 

changes  his  house,  266,  422 ; 
diploma  of  nobility  conferred,  266  ; 
control  of  finance,  267 ; estrange- 
ment with  the  Duke  of  Weimar, 

271,  604 ; anatomical  discovery, 

272,  403,  798 ; Die  Natur,  275 ; 

broken  friendships,  277-280,  479 ; 
at  Carlsbad,  284, 532, 539,  543,  573, 
575,  576,  607,  619 ; breach  with 
Frau  von  Stein,  285,  335 ; ballads, 
293;  Singspiele,  307-310 ; Wilhelm 
Meister,  314r-320,  481,  530,  636, 
660-694,695-718,  729;  Itulienische 
Reise,  323,  336,  392  ; tour  in  Italy, 
325-336,  338-345.  402 ; at  Rome, 
328-335,  339-345 ; portraits,  329, 
330  n.,  378  n.,  443  n.,  646 ; at  Naples, 
335, 338 ; in  Sicily,  336-338 ; sketch 
of  the  life  of  St.  Philip  Neri,  339; 
Iphigenie,  340,  356-366,  724 ; 

lessons  in  drawing,  341 ; interest 
in  music,  342;  relations  with  M. 
Riggi,  343 ; lack  of  sympathy  from 
his  friends,  377-380,  401 ; Tasso, 
366-375,  391,  724,  727 ; weakness 
of  will,  378,  791 ; birth  of  a son, 
387 ; views  on  marriage,  389 ; 
Roman  Elegies,  392-396, 727  ; con- 
version to  paganism,  392,  516 ; lia- 
ison with  Faustima,  393 ; Venetian 
Epigrams,  404,  727 ; at  Breslau, 
406 ; Die  Mystifizierten,  406  n. ; 
Director  of  the  Weimar  theatre, 
407,  428,  465 ; on  the  theory  of 
light,  408-410,  4S3,  539,  728,  798 ; 
character  of  his  philosophy,  412 ; 
founds  the  Freitagsgesellschaft, 
414  n. ; neglect  of  his  mother,  416, 
544,  797 ; joins  the  allies  at 
Longwy,  416 ; at  the  battle  of 
Valmy,  418;  at  Pempelfort,  420; 
visit  to  Princess  Gallitzin,  421 ; on 
the  French  Revolution,  424-427, 
432;  Der  Ch'oss-Cophta,  427-429; 
Biirgergeneral,  429-431;  Die  Auf- 
geregten,  431-433;  Das  Marchen, 
434;  translation  of  Riineke  Fuchs, 
435 ; relations  with  Schiller,  439- 
453,  477  ; i interview  with  him.  441 ; 
a realist,  447 ; correspondence  with 
Schiller,  449-553;  at  Jena,  455, 
540 ; Stafa,  458,  459 ; Euphrosyne 


INDEX 


807 


459 ; at  Oberrossla,  462, 468  ; recep- 
tion at  Gottingen,  463,  464;  at 
Pyrmont,  463  ; Farbenlehre,  463, 
464,  481,  527,  551,  570-573; 

manager  of  the  mines  at  Ilmenau, 
465 ; interest  in  the  University  of 
Jena,  469-471 ; edits  the  Jenaische 
Allgemeine  Liter  aturzeitung,  471 ; 
influence  of  the  Humboldts,  472 ; 
meeting*  with  Madame  de  Stael, 
475 ; grief  at  the  death  of  Schiller, 
478 ; Epilog  zu  Schiller's  Glocke, 

480,  551 j Hermann  unci  Dorothea, 

481,  486-494,  730 ; Die  natiirliche 

Tochter,  481,  494-500 ; contribu- 
tions to  Die  Horen,  482,  509 ; 
Literarischer  Sansculottismus,- 483 ; 
Xenien,  483-486 ; death  of  his 
fourth  child,  495 ; Die  Jcigcl,  501 ; 
Achilleis,  501,  733 ; dramatic 
sketches,  502;  translation  of  the 
autobiography  of  B.  Cellini,  508- 
510 ; of  Le  Neveu  de  Rameau,  510 ; 
the  Propylaen,  512,  733  ; aesthetic 
principles,  513-515 ; essay  Winchel- 
mann  und  sein  Jahrhwndert,  515- 
517,  523 ; relations  with  the 

Romantics,  517-524 ; friendship 
with  Zelter,  526,  530;  at  Halle, 
528 ; his  house  the  headquarters 
of  the  French,  535  ; marriage, 
535  ; relations  with  W.  Hertzlieb, 
540;  sonnets,  541;  relations  with 
B.  Brentano,  542 ; death  of  his 
mother,  543 ; at  Erfurt,  545 ; 
interviews  with  Napoleon,  546, 
547 ; translation  of  Mahomet,  546, 
733 ; Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour 
conferred,  547  n. ; Pandora,  551- 
558 ; Die  Wahlverwandtschaften, 
551,  558-569  ; life  of  P.  Hackert, 
574;  at  Dresden,  579;  Teplitz, 
579 ; on  the  War  of  Liberation, 
581-583  ; at  Berka,  582,  591 ; dis- 
like of  Prussians,  583 ; Vogel,  583 ; 
De s Epimenides  Erwachen,  584- 
586 ; Dichtung  und  Wahrheit , : 
587,  629,  636,  650,  660-666 ; West-  1 
bstlicher  Divan,  590,  593,  596,  607-  : 
611,  614 ; at  Wiesbaden,  591,  594 ; j 
relations  with  M.  Willemer,  594,  | 
597 ; Wieclerfinden,  599 ; Prime 
Minister,  601 ; death  of  his  wife,  ' 
602 ; at  Tennstadt,  603 ; Zahme  ' 
Xenien,  614 ; receptions,  618 ; I 
friendship  with  Eckermann,  618; 


at  Marienbad,  621 ; relations  with 
U.  von  Levetzow,  621-623 ; con- 
duct of  his  son,  623  ; Trilogie  der 
Leidenschaft,  624;  Paria,  626- 
628 ; judgments  on  English 
writers,  630-633 ; letter  from 
Byron,  634 ; house,  638 ; method- 
ical habits,  641 ; plan  of  his  day, 
641 ; jubilee  of  his  coming  to 
Weimar,  642 ; last  edition  of  his 
works,  643 ; at  Dornburg,  646 ; 
death  of  his  son,  649 ; interview 
with  the  King  of  Bavaria,  652 ; 
Maximen  und  Reflexionen,  657- 
659 ; character  of  his  heroes,  687  ; 
lines  on  his  birthday  letter  from 
Englishmen,  779 ; death,  783 ; 
funeral,  783;  criticisms  on,  784- 
788 ; sensitiveness  to  climate,  789 ; 
defects  of  his  character,  796 ; want 
of  patriotism,  797 

Goethe,  Ottilie  von,  605;  relations 
with  her  husband,  605 ; devotion 
to  Goethe,  651 
Goethe,  Wolf,  651 
Goldschmiedsgesell,  Der,  552 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  Deserted  Village, 
translation  of,  107 ; Edwin  and 
Angelina,  188 ; Vicar  of  Wakefield, 
576  n.,  631 

Goncourt,  Edmond  de,  opinion  of 
Prometheus,  133  n. 

Goschen,  the  publisher,  285  n.,  321, 
359  n.,  368  n.,  392  n.,  724 
Gotha,  Prince  August,  464 
Gothic k architecture,  326,  513,  524; 
origin,  69 

Gott,  Der,  und  Die  Bajadere,  507 
Gotter,  F.  W.,  Secretary  of  the 
Gotha  Legation  at  Wetzlar,  107 ; 
translation  of  the  Deserted  Village, 
107 

Gotter,  Helden  und  Wieland,  127, 227 
Gottingen,  463,  464 
Gottliche , Das,  296,  298,  302,  723, 
751,  776 

Gottsched,  J.  C.,  at  Leipzig,  23 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  66,  68,  80,  83, 
89-93,  113,  121,  425,  520;  criti- 
cisms on,  93;  anachronisms,  94; 
influence  on  literature,  95;  style, 
96 ; recast,  123 
Grandpre,  419 
Greek  literature,  451 
Grenzen  der  Menschheit,  296,  298, 
302,  723 


808 


INDEX 


Gretchen,  relations  with  Goethe,  16 
Grimm,  Baron,  464  n. 

Grimm,  Hermann,  598 
Grimm,  Wilhelm,  526;  impressions 
of  Goethe,  550 
Gross-Coplita,  427-429 
Gross  ist  die  Diana  der  Ephesier,  588 
Guercino,  pictures  of,  327 
Gunther,  Court  Preacher,  535 
Gwinner,  Wilhelm,  Goethe's  Faust- 
idee,  777 

Hackert,  Philipp,  341.  573;  Life  of, 
574,  660 

Haldane,  Lord,  on  Goethe’s  Second 
Part  of  Faust,  748 
Halle,  528  ; University,  471 
Hamann,  J.  G.,  62 ; “ Magus  of  the 
North,”  63 ; influence  on  Princess 
Gallitzin,  421 ; death,  421 
Hamilton,  Lady,  costume,  336 
Hammer,  von,  translation  of  the 
Divan,  590,  597 
Hanover,  118,  245 

Hans  Saclisens  poetische  Sendung, 

304 

Hardenberg,  K.  A.  von,  at  Weimar, 
581  n. 

Harz  mountains,  245,  272  n.,  274 
Harzreise  im  Winter,  246,  745 
Hasenkamp,  opinion  of  Werther,  170 
Haugnitz,  Count,  at  Frankfort,  198 
Haym,  B>.,  Life  of  Herder,  62  n.,  67  n. 
Hegel,  G.  W.  F.,  409  n. ; criticism 
on  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  94; 
impressions  of  Napoleon,  584  n. ; 
opinion  of  the  Divan,  610 
Hehn,  Viktor,  102 ; V her  Goethe's 
Gedichte,  132  n. 

Heidelberg’.  211, 428 ; University,  543 
Heilbronn,  458 

Heine,  Heinrich,  impressions  of 
Goethe,  651 

Heinse,  Johann  J.  W.,  opinion  of~ 
Goethe,  174 

Helmont,  Jean  Baptiste  von,  47 
Herbst,  W.,  Goethe  in  Wetzlar,  107  n. 
Herder,  Frau,  381 ; impressions  of 
Goethe,  396 

Herder,  Johann  Gottfried,  Frag- 
ments on  Modern  German  Litera- 
ture, 35 ; career,  61 ; relations  with 
Goethe,  61-67,  281,  455 ; charac- 
teristics, 62,  63 ; religious  views, 
62 ; toast  to,  88  n. ; criticism  on 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  106  ; on 


Goethe,  121,  390, 788  ; letters  from 
Goethe,  198,  285  ; preacher  at  the 
Court  of  Weimar,  221,  230,  280; 
Ideen,  274 ; at  Carlsbad,  284 ; 
criticism  of  Tasso,  372;  baptises 
Goethe’s  son,  387 ; at  Rome,  401 ; 
member  of  the  Freitagsgesellschaft, 
414  n. ; opinion  of  Reinelce  Fuchs, 
436 ; Die  natiirliche  Tochter,  498  ; 
Wilhelm  Meister,  691 
Hermann  und  Dorothea,  481,  486- 
494,  730 

Hermann  und  Dorothea,  elegy,  504  n. 
Herrnhut  Community,  Svnod  of  the, 
46 

Hertzlieb,  Wilhelmina,  relations  with 
Goethe,  540 

Hesse-Darmstadt,  Princess  Luise  of. 
betrothal,  200 

Heyne,  C.  G.t  at  Gottingen,  463 
Hibbert  Journal , 129  n. 

Hoffnung,  295 

Holderlin,  impressions  of  Goethe, 
474 

Horen,  Die,  395,  482,  509 ; failure, 
482,  512 

Horn,  impressions  of  Goethe,  26-28 
Howard,  Luke,  625 
Huber,  L.F.,  criticism  of  Die  natiir- 
liche  Tocliter,  498 
Hugo,  Victor,  Notre  Dame,  653 
Humboldt,  Alexander  von,  472, 
479  n. ; contributor  to  Die  Horen. 
482 ; at  Weimar,  548,  5S1  n.,  651 ; 
opinion  of  the  Divan,  610 
Humboldt,  Wilhelm  von,  472  ; views 
on  marriage,  74 ; letters  from 
Goethe,  479,  782 ; contributor  to 
Die,  Horen,  482;  opinion  of  Her- 
mann und  Dorothea,  489 ; of  Elec- 
tive Affinities,  569 ; of  Wilhelm 
Meister,  6S8,  691 

Hutton,  R,  H.,  essay  on  Goethe,  785 
Hypsistarians,  the,  795 


Ifflavd,  Auguste  W.,  the  actor. 
356  n. ; Director  of  the  Berlin 
theatre,  465  n.,  582 ; at  W eimar.  465 
Ihr  verbliihet,  svsse  Rosen,  139  n., 
208  n. 

Ilm,  the,  229,  248,  310  n.,  5S2 
Ilmenau,  240,  272  n.,  274.  580,  780; 

mines  at,  246,  261,  379,  465 
Hmenau  poem,  225,  269-271,  303 
Innsbruck.  324 


INDEX 


809 


Intermaxillary  bone  in  man,  dis- 
covery of,  272,  798 
Iphigenie,  313,  340,  356-366,  724 ; 

recastings,  359  ; criticisms  on,  364 
Italian  art,  plan  of  a history  of,  456, 
458,  461,  512,  612 
Italienische  Reise,  323,  336,  392 

Jabacu,  picture  of,  173 
Jacobi,  Betty,  171 

Jacobi,  Fritz,  132 ; letters  from 
Goethe,  150,  175,  239,  416;  at 
Pempelfort,  171 ; meeting  with 
Goethe,  171-174,  420  ; personality, 
172 ; at  Cologne,  173 ; impressions 
of  Goethe,  174,  789  ; estrang-ement 
with  him,  279  ; romances,  280 ; at 
Weimar,  528  ; criticism  of  Elective 
Affinities,  566,  569 ; Von  den  gott- 
lichen  Bingen  und  Hirer  Ojfen- 
barring,  575,  588  n. ; death,  615 
Jacobi, Georg,  171 ; at  Pempelfort,  172 
Jagd,  Die,  501 

Jagemann,  Caroline,  465,  604 
Jahrmarktsfest,  Das,  124 
Janin,  Jules,  criticism  of  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Lehrjahre,  692 
J ena,  240,  637  ; battle  of,  536,  538 ; 
University  of,  223,  379,  455,  469- 
471, 606 ; exodus  of  professors,  471 ; 
formation  of  the  Students’  Asso- 
ciations, 606 ; tribute  to  Goethe, 
643  n. 

Jenaische  Allgemeine  Literaturzei- 
tung,  471 
Jenkins,  Mr.,  343 

Jerusalem,  commits  suicide,  113,  140 
■levy  und  Bdtely,  309 
Johnson,  Dr.,  on  broken  friendships,  i 
278  ; treatment  of  his  mother,  416,  1 
544,  797 

J ude,  Der  Ewige,  156-160,  166,  195 
Jung,  Johann  Heinrich,  59.  See 
Stilling- 

Jung,  Marianne,  character,  593  ; rela- 
tions with  Goethe,  594  ; marriage,  ' 
594.  See  Willemer 

Kant,  Immanuel,  criticism  on 
German  literature,  35 ; views  on 
marriage,  79,  796 ; Critique  of  ■ 
Pure  Reason,  411 ; of  Judgment , i 
411-413 ; contributor  to  Die  Horen, 
482 

Karsten,  play,  604 
Katzenpastelo,  587 


Kauffmann,  Angelica,  meeting  with 
Goethe,  329-331 ; portrait  of,  330 
Kayser,  Philipp  Christoph,  307 ; in 
Home,  342 

Keats,  John,  492  n. ; extract  from 
his  Letters,  340  n. 

Kellerman,  F.  C.,  at  the  battle  of 
Yalmy,  418 

Kennst  du  das  Land,  292,  751 
Kestner,  A.,  Goethe  und  Werther, 
146  n. 

Kestner,  Johann  Christian,  charac- 
teristics, 109 ; impressions  of 
Goethe,  111 ; letters  from,  117 ; 
marriage,  117 ; at  Hanover,  118, 
245 

Kickelhahn,  the,  240,  269,  780 
Klettenberg-,  Fraiilein  von,  religious 
views,  11,  45  ; character,  46 ; occult 
studies,  46 ; letter  from  Goethe, 
56  ; meeting  with  Lavater,  165  ; 
illness,  179  ; death,  180 
Klopstock,  Friedrich  Gottlieb,  Mes- 
sias,  88,  175 ; relations  with  Goe- 
the, 176  ; at  Frankfort,  176, 197  ; 
Carlsruhe,  200 ; admonition  of 
Goethe,  228 

Knabe,  Der  untreue,  173 
Knaben,  Wuuderhorn , Des,  532,  539 
Knebel,  Major  von,  friendship  with 
Goethe,  178,  280  ; impressions  of 
him,  179,  264,  378,  390,  397,  787, 
791 ; letters  from  him,  207,  267 ; 
member  of  the  Freitagsgesellschaft, 
414  n. ; criticism  of  Elective  Affini- 
ties, 569 

Kniep,  J.  C.,  336 
Kochberg,  233,  381 
Konig  von  Thule,  Der,  173,  724,  751 
Korner,  C.  G.,  67  n. ; impressions  of 
Goethe,  406,  438  n. ; friendship 
with  Schiller,  440 ; criticism  of  Die 
natiirliche  Tochter,  498 ; of  Wil- 
helm Meisters  Lehrjahre,  691 
Kotzebue,  Auguste  von,  plays,  465, 
467  ; at  Weimar,  607  n. ; assassi- 
nated, 616 

Kraft,  incapacity,  249-251 ; letters 
from  Goethe,  249,  263 
Kruger,  the  actor,  358  n.,  692 
Kunst  und  Altertlium,  journal,  612, 
767 

Kiinstlers  Erdewallen,  135 

LaBrtjyere,  Jeaude,  saying  of,  739T 
740 


810 


INDEX 


Lacordaire.  Jean  B.,  criticism  on 
Goethe,  785 

Lahn,  the,  105,  120,  169 
Lamenais,  F.  R.  de,  criticism  of 
Faust,  785 

Langer,  influence  on  Goethe,  43 
Lassberg,  Christel  von,  commits 
suicide,  248,  312 
Lauchstiidt,  theatre  at,  527 
Laune  des  Verliebten,  Die,  35,  37 
Lavater,  J ohann  Kaspar,  162 ; 
Schweizerlieder,  162  ; Aussichten 
in  die  Ewigheit,  162 ; work  on 
Physiognomy,  162,  164  n.,  202, 
208,  232 ; characteristics,  162, 167 ; 
relations  with  Goethe,  163, 202 ; at 
Frankfort, 164-166  ; Ems,166 ; skill 
in  physiognomy,  168 ; voyage  down 
the  Rhine,  169,  595  ; at  Mulheim, 
170;  Elberfeld,  170;  Zurich,  202; 
letter  from  Goethe,  207 ; influence 
on  the  Duke  of  Weimar,  258 ; 
estrangement  from  Goethe,  278, 
460;  at  Weimar,  279;  epigram 
on,  484 

Le  Brun,  Charles,  picture  of  Jabach, 
173 

Leibniz,  653  n. 

Leidenschaft,  Trilogie  der,  624 
Leipzig,  22,  663,  720;  the  literary 
centre  of  Germany,  23 ; battle  of, 
580,  582,  606 ; University  of,  17, 
218 

Leng-efeldt,  Charlotte  von,  marriage, 
440 

Lenz,  suicide,  744 

Leonardo  da  Yinci,  Last  supper,  345 
Lerse,  56  n. 

Lessing,  Gotthold,  Laokoon,  35  ; 
Minna  von  Barnlielm,  35 ; criti- 
cism on,  51 ; opinion  of  Gotz  von 
Berlichingen,  94  n. ; controversy 
on  Prometheus,  132  ; criticism  of 
Werther,  145  n. ; views  on  tragedy, 
777 

Leuchsenring,  intrigues,  115,  125 
Leute,  Die,  588 

Levetzow,  Ulrike  von,  relations 
with  Goethe,  621-623 
Lewes,  G.  H.,  opinion  of  Gotz  von 
Berlichingen,  94 ; Life  of  Goethe, 
696  n.,  774 

Lewis  I.,  King  of  Bavaria,  interview 
with  Goethe,  652 

Lewis,  Monk,  translation  of  Faust, 
Part  I.,  633  n. 


I 


I 


I 


Liberation,  War  of,  570,  582,  589, 
600 

Lido,  the,  326 
Lila,  308 

Lilis  Park,  195  n.,  208  n. 

Limprecht,  letter  from  Goethe,  55 
Linnaeus,  Carl,  Botanical  Philosophy, 
273 

Lisbon,  earthquake,  12 
Literarischer  Sansculottismus,  3,  34 
k,  483 

Lockhart,  John  Gibson,  on  the 
appearance  of  Goethe,  641  n. 
Loder,  Professor  of  anatomy  at  Jena, 
262,  471 ; departure,  471 
Loeper,  G.  von,  658  n.,  661  n.,  664  n. 
Longwy,  camp  at,  416 
Louis,  King  of  Holland,  573 
Lowell,  Russell,  396 
Luden,  H.,  586  n. 

Ludwigsburg,  458 
Luther,  Martin,  606 
Liitzen,  defeat  at,  578 
Lyncker,  Am  Weirnamschen  Eofe, 
222  n.,  236  n. 


Macdonald,  Dr.  George,  vii. 
Macpherson,  James,  Ossian,  631 
Mahomet,  projected  drama  of,  133- 
135 

Main  river,  2,  597 
Mainz,  siege  of,  423,  531 
Mainz,  Siege  of,  418  n.,  629 
Malcesine,  325 

Mann  von  funfzig  Jahren,  Der,  695, 
705 

Mannheim,  200 
Mantua,  404 

Manzoni,  Alessandro,  Adelchi,  363  ; 
Carmagnola,  630 

Mdrchen  Das,  434,  520;  criticisms 
on,  434 

Maria  Theresa,  Empress  of  Austria, 
1.3 

Marie  Antoinette,  trial,  42S 
Marienbad,  621 

Marriage,  views  on.  3S9,  566,  569 
Martial,  Zenia,  483 
Mashenzug  zum  30  Januar,  502 
Masson,  Prof.,  vii. 

Maximen  und  Reflexionen,  657-659 
Melusine,  Die  neue,  695,  708 
Mendelssohn,  Felix,  157  n.,  217,  342, 
623,  637,  7S9 

Mendelssohn,  Moses,  death,  133 


INDEX 


811 


Menzel,  Wolfgang,  attacks  on  Goe- 
the, 786 

Merck,  Johann  Heinrich,  impres- 
sions _ of  Goethe,  97  ; charac 
teristics,  98 ; attitude  in  criticism, 
98 ; at  Darmstadt,  99 ; leader  of 
the  Gemeinscliaft  der  Heiligen,  99  ; 
translation  of  the  ballad  Edward, 
100 ; at  Ehrenbreitstein,  114  ; 
editor  of  the  Frankfurter  Gelehrte 
Anzeigen,  121 ; definition  of  Goe- 
the’s genius,  200  n. ; letters  from 
Goethe,  207,  230,  241,  248,  261; 
at  Wartburg,  245 ; estrangement 
with  Goethe,  278  ; commits  suicide, 
278  n.,  744 
Mercur,  the,  391 

Meredith,  George,  opinion  of  Das 
Gottliche,  299  n. ; An  Essay  on 
Comedy  and  the  Uses  of  the  Comic 
Spirit,  426  n. 

Merimee,  Prosper,  Guzla,  653 ; 
criticism  of  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Lelirjahre,  693 
Messina,  337 

Metamorphosis  of  Animals,  391 ; of 
Plants,  391,  507 
Meteorology,  study  of,  625 
Metternich,  Prince,  at  Weimar,  581 ; 
policy,  607,  614 ; at  Carlsbad,  607, 
617 

Meyer,  Johann  Heinrich,  329,  341; 
resides  with  Goethe,  422,  457 ; 
Director  of  the  Weimar  Drawing- 
school,  422  n.,  457;  illness,  457; 
at  Stafa,  458 ; Cassel,  464 ; acci- 
dent, 603 

Meyer,  Dr.  R.  H.,  opinion  of  Iplii- 
genie,  363  n. ; Goethe,  786  n. 
Michael  Angelo,  works  of,  330,  332 
Milan  cathedral,  345 
Milton,  John,  Comus,  365  ; Paradise 
Lost,  492,  630,  736,  747 ; Samson 
Agonistes,  630 ; controversial  pam- 
phlets, 797 

Mitschuldigen,  Die,  36-39,  310 
Mitternacht,  TJm,  611 
Moller,  Johann  Philipp,  321 
Mond,  An  den,  293 
Mont  Blanc,  258 

Monumenta  Germaniae  Historica, 
595  n. 

Moore,  Thomas,  criticism  of,  631; 

Life  of  Byron,  634  n. 

Moritz,  Karl  Philipp,  329  ; accident, 
329 


Morris,  Max,  Der  gunge  Goet\h 
20  n.,  128  n.,  155  n.,  180  n.,  20f  of 
211  n.  440; 

Moselle,  the,  420  '40; 

Miilheim,  170  'he 

Muller,  Chancellor  von,  5 n.,  3-' 
43  345,  566  ».,  623, 632,  637, 649 

Miiller,  Joseph,  533 
Munch,  Anna  Sibylla,  148 
Munich,  324 
Munster,  421 
Musenalmanach,  484 
Mystifizierten,  Die,  406  n. , 428 

Nacht,  Die  sclione,  36 
Nachtyesang,  507 
Naples,  335,  338 

Napoleon,  Emperor,  opinion  of  Wer- 
ther,  147,  546 ; tribute  to  Duchess 
Luise  of  Weimar,  225  n ; at  Wei- 
mar, 535,  547 ; treatment  of  the 
Duke  of  Weimar,  536  ; at  Erfurt 
Congress,  545 ; interviews  with 
Goethe,  546,  547 ; invasion  of 
Russia,  576 ; marriage,  576 ; re- 
treat, 577 ; coalition  against,  579  ; 
defeat  at  the  battle  of  Leipzig, 
580;  abdication,  582;  saying  of, 
602 

Nassau,  168 
Natur,  Die,  275 

Natiirliche  Tochter,  Die,  481,  494- 
500 ; criticisms  on,  498  ; style, 
499 

Neue  Liehe,  neues  Lehen,  184 
Neue  Lieder,  35 ; style,  36 
Neumann,  Christiane,  death,  459 
Newman,  Cardinal,  patron  saint, 
339  n. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  theory  of  light, 
409,  572,  728 

Ney,  Marshal,  at  Weimar,  535 
Nibelungenlied,  532,  539 
Nicolai,  the  publisher,  583 
Niebuhr,  B.  G.,  criticism  of  Italie- 
nische  Reise,  324 
Niederrossla,  534 
Novalis,  opinion  of  Goethe,  522 
Nur  wer  die  Sehnsucht,  291 
Nuremberg,  461 

Nussbrawne  Mddchen,  Das,  695, 701 

OBERONSund  Titanias  goldne  Hocli- 
zeit,  733,  735 
Oberrossla,  462,  468 
Oeser,  Friedrich,  influence  on  Goethe, 


812 


INDEX 


LacC3 ; letters  from  him,  49,  52 ; 

Goe.ector  of  the  Drawing  Academy 
Lahn,  Leipzig,  322 
Lanuenbach,  196,  206,  597 
Fptik,  Beitrdge  zur,  410 
LOvid,  lines  from,  345 
Oxenford,  John,  639  n.,  716  n. 


Padua,  326,  403 

Page,  W.  Gregory  A.,  translation 
of  Wilhelm  Meister,  314  n. 
Paldopliron  und  Neoterpe,  502 
Palermo,  336 

Pandora,  527,  550,  551-558 
Paracelsus,  47 
Faria,  626-628 
Paris,  Revolution,  654 
Passavant,  tour  with  Goethe,  202-204 
Paul,  Jean,  474,  638  ; interview  with 
Goethe,  475  ; Hesperus,  732  n. 
Paulus,  Heinrich,  Professor  of  Ori- 
ental languages  at  J ena  University, 
leaves,  471 

Pempelfort,  171,  172,  420 
Perugia,  327 

Peters.  F.  H.,  translation  of  Ethics, 
793  n. 

Pfaffenspiel,  588 
Pfenning'er,  Heinrich,  164  n. 
Pilgemde  Thorin,  Die,  695,  699 
Plants,  metamorphosis  of,  273,  274 
n.,  326,  334 

Plessing,  morhid  condition,  246 ; 
Professor  of  Ancient  Pliilosophv. 

~ 420 

Poetische  Gedanken  iiber  die  Hollen- 
fahrt  Jesu  Christi,  20 
Pogwisch,  Ottlie  von,  marriage,  605. 
See  Goethe 

Poischwitz,  armistice  of,  578 
Pollock,  Sir  Frederick,  Spinoza, 
132  n. 

Pompeii,  336,  649 

Pope,  the,  celebrates  liigdi  mass,  332 
Prometheus,  128-133 
Prometheus,  Die  Befreiung  des,  502 
Propylden,  461  n.,  469,  733;  failure, 
412 

Prussia,  alliance  with  Germany,  271 ; 
negotiations  with  Austria,  406  ; 
policy  of  neutrality,  531 ; mobi- 
lisation, 534;  peace  with  France, 
538  n.,  552 

Prussians,  character,  583 
Pyrmont,  462-464 


I Racine,  Jean,  Andromaque,  545 
! Raphael,  works  of,  332,  339 

Ratisbon,  324 

ReifEenstein,  Hofrat,  331  n. 

Beineke  Fuchs,  435 

Reinhard,  Karl  Friedrich,  Graf  von, 
at  Carlsbad,  539 
\ Reinliold,  Professor,  411,  469 
i Reise  der  Sohne  Megaprazons,  434 

Reuss,  Prince,  414  n. 

1 Revue  He b d ora adaire,  La,  418  n. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  Discourses, 
! 514  n. 

Rhine,  the,  169,  595  : Confederation 
of  the,  533, 537,  548 

Richardson,  Samuel,  Clarissa  Har- 
lovze,  138  n. 

Riemer,  secretary  to  Goethe,  24, 533, 
536  ; leaves,  581  n. 

Riggi,  Maddalena,  relations  with 
Goethe,  343 

Robinson,  Henry  Crabb,  impres- 
sions of  Goethe,  443,  474,  640;  of 
Schiller,  443  ; of  W eimar  theatre, 
466 

Roche,  Frau  von  la,  114;  appear- 
ance. 114 ; friendship  with  Goethe, 
115 

Roche,  Herr  von  la,  114 

Roche,  Maximiliane  von  la,  relations 
with  Goethe,  115,  137  ; marriage, 
137,  541,  564 

Roche,  Sophie  von  la,  119,  171 ; 
letter  from  Goethe,  180  n. 

Rochester,  Earl  of,  lines  of,  13S  n. 

Rogers,  Alexander,  translation  of 
Reineke  Fuchs,  436  n. 

Roman  Elegies,  392-396,  482,  608, 
727 

Romantic  School,  views,  517-524; 

I members,  520-522 ; creed  of  neo- 
Cathplicism,  569 

I Rome,  328-335,  339-345,  649;  St. 
Peter’s,  331 ; Festival  of  all  Saints, 
332 ; of  Corpus  Christi,  339  ; car- 
I nival,  342 

Rome,  Second  Sojourn  in,  629,  636, 
725 

Rousseau,  J.  J.,  82;  NouveUe  He- 
loise,  138  n. 

Rovers,  The,  or  The  Double  Ar- 
rangement, 192  n. 

Rumohr,  W.  von,  letter  from  Goethe, 
40  n. 

Russia,  invaded  by  the  French,  576 


INDEX 


813 


Saaxe,  the,  646 
Sachs,  Hans,  124,  305 
St.  Augustine,  Confessions,  664 
St.  Gotliard,  204,  258,  458 
St.  Hilaire,  Geoffrey,  controversy 
with  Cuvier,  654,  781 
St.  Philip  Neri,  sketch  of  his  life,  339 
Sainte-Beuve,  C.  A.,  opinion  of  Wer- 
ther,  145  n. ; Goethe  et  Bettina, 
542  n. ; on  the  relations  between 
Goethe  and  his  mother,  544 
Ste.  Menehould,  418 
Salzmann,  Dr.,  character,  58 ; friend- 
ship with  Goethe,  58 ; letters  from 
him,  87  ; creed,  300 
i Sand  Joseph  der  Zweite,  695,  698 
Sand,  George,  opinion  of  Goethe, 
786 

Sand,  Karl,  assassinates  Kotzebue, 
616 

Sanger,  Der,  293,  294 
Satyros  oder  der  vergotterte  Wald-  j 
teufel,  126 

Saunders,  Bailey,  Maxims  and  Re- 
flections of  Goethe,  658  n. 

Saussure,  H.  B.  de,  meeting  with 
Goethe,  258 ; Voyage  dans  les 
Alpes,  261 

Savary,  General,  at  Erfurt,  546 
Saxe-Weimar,  Duchy  of,  536 
Schafers  Klagelied,  506 
Schaffhausen,  202,  458 
Schelling,  P.  W.  J.,  philosophy,  471, 
473,  521 ; opinion  of  Elective 
Affinities,  569 

Scherer,  Edmond,  4;  criticism  on 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  94 ; opinion 
of  Goethe,  798 

Scherer,  W.,  History  of  German 
Literature,  502  n. 

Scherz,  List  und  Rache,  310 
Schiller,  Frau,  on  Goethe’s  state  of 
mind,  575 

Schiller,  Johann  C.  F.,  4,  19,  67  n. ; 
influence  on  his  writings,  95  ; cor- 
respondence with  Goethe,  114  n., 
442,  449-453  ; description  of  Frau 
von  Stein,  232  ; adapts  Egmont 
for  the  s+  "e,  354  n. ; criticism 
on  it,  355  ; on  Iphigenie,  364  ; on 
Goethe’s  weakness  of  will,  378  n. ; 
journal  Die  Horen,  395,  482 ; 
opinion  of  the  Roman  Elegies,  395 ; 
lines,  396  ; impressions  of  Goethe, 
397-399;  on  the  character  of  his 
philosophy,  412 ; the  Robbers,  439 ; 


tact,  439,  442 ; relations  with 
Goethe,  439-443 ; Professor  of 
History  at  Jena  University,  440 ; 
Don  Carlos,  440;  marriage,  440; 
History  of  the  Revolt  of  the 
Netherlands,  440  n. ; interview 
with  Goethe,  441 ; characteris- 
tics, 442-444 ; appearance,  443 ; 
friendship  with  Goethe,  443-453, 
477,  787 ; career,  444 ; interest  in 
history,  446  ; an  idealist,  447-449 ; 
opinion  of  Wilhelm  Meister,  451 ; 
Wallenstein,  451,  486 ; Wilhelm 
Tell,  460,  466  ; plays,  466  ; objec- 
tions to  C.  Vulpius,  476;  illness, 
477, 478 ; death,  478 ; lines  on,  480  ; 
epigrams, 484;  opinion  of  Hermann 
und  Dorothea,  489 ; of  Die  natiir- 
liche  Tochter,  498  ; repugnance  to 
the  Romantics,  520;  dislike  to  C. 
Schlegel,  522  n. ; Demetrius,  527  ; 
Die  Glocke,  529 ; poem  on  his  skull, 
655  ; opinion  of  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Lehrjahre,  688,  691  n. ; of  Faust, 
728 

Schimmelmann,  Charlotte  Griifen, 
445 

Schlapp,  Dr.  Otto,  vii. 

Schlegel,  A.  W.,  Professor  of  Litera- 
ture at  Jena  University,  473  ; cha- 
racter, 473 ; contributor  to  Die 
Horen,  482 ; opinion  of  Hermann 
und  Dorothea,  489 ; tutor  to 
Madame  de  Stael’s  sons,  521 ; 
translation  of  Shakespeare’s  plays, 
523 

Schlegel,  Caroline,  characteristics, 
522 

Schlegel,  Frederick,  play,  408 ; Alar- 
cos,  521 ; characteristics,  521 ; 
founder  of  the  Athenseum,  521 ; 
Lucinde,  521 ; book  on  India,  590  ; 
opinion  of  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehr- 
jahre, 691 

Schlosser,  Cornelia,  last  meeting- 
with  her  brother,  200;  death,  201, 
243 ; grave,  257 ; devotion  to  her 
brother,  787 

Schlosser,  F.  C.,  85  ; impressions  of 
Goethe,  104 

Schlosser,  Fritz,  594 

Schlosser,  J.  Georg,  85  ; marriage, 
119 ; second  marriage,  257,  280 

Schlosser,  Joanna,  257 

Schmidt,  Erich,  212 

Schonemann,  Frau,  181 


814 


INDEX 


Schonemann,  Lili,  181 ; relations 
with  Goethe,  182-197,  206,  288, 
663  ; characteristics,  183 ; appear- 
ance, 183 ; at  Offenbach,  196  ; be- 
trothal, 197 ; marriage,  211  n. ; 
meeting  with  Goethe,  257  ; son, 
534  n. 

Schonkopf,  Kathchen,  relations  with 
Goethe,  27-32,  50 ; betrothal,  50  _ 
Schopenhauer,  A.,  409  n. ; at  Wei- 
mar, 536 

Schopenhauer,  Madame,  at  Weimar, 
536 

Schrempf,  C.,  Goethes  Lebensan- 
schauung,  786  n. 

Schroter,  Corona,  310  n.,  313,  359 
Schulthess,  Barbara,  460  n. 

Schiitz,  C.  G.,  Professor  of  History 
at  Jena  University,  471 ; at  Halle 
University,  471 
Scliwager  Kronas,  Ar,  176 
Sciacca,  337 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  translation  of 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  96 ; Kenil- 
worth, 353  n. ; Waverley  Novels, 
632  ; Life  of  Napoleon,  632  n. 
Sebus,  Johanna,  552 
Seeley,  Sir  John,  630 ; opinion  of 
Goethe,  785,  789 
Segesta,  337 
Seidel,  Philipp,  285,  321 
Serassi,  Life  of  Tasso,  367 
Sesenheim,  70,  256 
Seven  Years’  War,  13 
Shakespeare,  William,  panegyric  on, 
88;  Richard  III.,  452;  translation 
of  his  plavs,  523;  estimate  of, 
630 

Shelley,  P.  B.,  elopement,  385  n. ; 

Prometheus  Unbound,  502 
Sidgwick,  Henry,  criticism  of  Dich- 
tung  und  Wahrheit,  665 ; opinion 
of  Goethe,  785 
Siedler,  Luise,  577 
Silesia,  406 
Singspiele,  307 

Smith,  Minna  Steele,  Poetry  and 
Truth  from  my  Own  Life,  40  n. 
Soret,  Friedrich,  637 ; reports  of 
Goethe’s  conversation,  620  n. ; 
anecdote  of  Goethe,  653 
Soult,  Marshal,  at  Erfurt,  347 
Southey,  Robert,  characteristics, 
637  n. 

Spain,  fighting  in,  548 

Spinoza,  Benedict,  influence  on  Goe- 


the, 154-156,  276,  280;  Tractatus 
Theologico-Politicus,  155,  156; 

tribute  to,  166;  character,  173; 
the  “atheist,”  174;  Ethic,  576 
Sprode,  Die,  507 

Stael,  Madame  de,  at  Weimar,  475; 
volubility,  475  ; meeting  with  Goe- 
the, 475;  criticism  of  Die  natiir- 
liche  Tochter,  500 ; of  Dichtung 
und  Wahrheit,  664 
Stafa,  457,  458,  459 
Starke,  Dr.,  461 
Steffens,  H.,  549  n. 

Stein,  Baron  von,  231 ; Minister  of 
State,  594 ; meeting  with  Goethe, 
595 

Stein,  Carl,  on  the  character  of  his 
mother,  387 

Stein,  Charlotte,  Frau  von,  6 n.t 
33  u.,110  n. ; letters  from  Goethe, 
182  n.,  383-385 ; relations  with 
him,  230-235,  242,  281-285.  289, 
380-387,  797  ; appearance  and  cha- 
racteristics, 231,  387 ; portrait. 
232;  estimate  of  Goethe,  234; 
letter  to  Major  von  Knebel,  274 ; 
fits  of  depression,  283,  289 ; breach 
with  Goethe,  285, 335, 667 ; opinion 
of  Tasso,  368  n. ; at  Ems,  383 ; on 
the  illness  of  Goethe,  462 ; death, 
644 ; lines  on,  644  ; funeral,  645 ; 
criticism  on  Wilhelm  Meister,  675, 
691 

| Stein,  Fritz,  devotion  to  Goethe, 
380  ; letter  from  his  brother,  387 
Stella  or  A Play  for  Lovers,  189-193, 
288 

Sterling,  John,  opinion  of  Goethe, 
784 ; Onyx  Ring,  784 
Sterne,  Laurence,  82 ; Sentimental 
Journey,  403;  estimate  of,  631 
Stevenson,  R.  L..  opinion  of  Werthcr, 
147  n. 

Stieler,  J. , portrait  of  Goethe,  646 
Stilling,  J ung,  friendship  with  Goe- 
the, 59-61,  787 ; career,  59  ; tribute 
to,  61 ; at  Elberfeld,  170 ; epigram 
on,  484 

Stolberg,  Count  von,  at  Frankfort, 
198 ; tour  with  Goethe,  199 ; epi- 
gram on,  484 

Stolberg,  Fritz  von,  burns  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Lehrjahre,  691 
Stolberg,  Giistchen.  Countess  von. 
correspondence  with  Goethe.  1S6, 
198, 207, 233  ».,  628.  SeeBernstoff 


INDEX 


815 


Strassburg,  53,  54, 200, 219, 257, 663, 
720 ; cathedral,  68 
Stuttgart,  458 
Suez  Canal,  653 

Sulzer,  J.  G.,  impressions  of  Goethe, 
208  _ 

Swanwick,  Miss,  212  n. 

Swedenborg,  Emanuel,  297  n. ; 
writings,  531 

Swift,  Jonathan,  attitude  to  mar- 
riage, 389  n. 

Switzerland,  202,  254,256,  258,  458- 
461 

Syracuse,  337 

Szymanowska,  Madame,  623 

Taine,  Henri,  opinion  of  Goethe, 
786 

Talleyrand , at  Erfurt,  546 
Talma,  545 
Taormina,  337 
Taschenbuch,  489 

Tasso,  Torquato,  Jerusalem  De- 
livered, 366,  369 

Tasso,  314,  336,  366-375,  391,  724, 
727  ; criticisms  on,  375 
Taylor,  Bayard,  translation  of  Faust, 
Part  II. , 765 

Tennstadt,  sulphur  springs,  603 
Tennyson,  Lord,  The  Palace  of  Art, 
217  n. 

Teplitz,  576,  579 

Textor,  Chief  Magistrate  of  Frank- 
fort, 5,  13 ; death,  419 
Thackeray,  W.  M.,  interview  with 
Goethe,  640 
Thoranc,  Count,  15 
Thorwaldsen,  B.,  649  n. 

Thuringian  Forest,  240,  244,  580, 
780 

Ticknor,  George,  at  Weimar,  603; 

impressions  of  Goethe,  603 
Tieck,  Ludwig,  522 ; translation  of 
Don  Quixote,  523 
Tiefurt,  310  n. 

Tiefurt,  Journal  von,  275  n. 
Tischbein,  Johann,  328,  341 ; por- 
trait of  Goethe,  329  n. ; at  Naples, 
335 

Todtentanz,  Der,  587 
Trauerloge,  611 
Trent,  325 
Treves,  419 

Triumph  der  Enipfindsamkeit,  Der, 

311 

Trost  in  Thranen,  506 


Tubingen,  458 

Tiirckheim,  Major  von,  534  n. 
Turgenieff,  Ivan,  133  n. 

Ueber  alien  Gipfeln  ist  Huh,  240, 
296,  780 
Ultimatum,  625 
Unger,  the  publisher,  668 
United  States,  653 
Unterhaltungen  deutscher  Ausge- 
wanderten,  434 

Urfaust,  200,  213-216,  319,  320,  719, 
721-723,  727,  738 
Urworte,  Orphisch,  611 

Yaxmt,  417  ; battle  of,  418 
Veilchen  auf  der  Wiese  stand,  Ein, 
189  n. 

Venetian  Epigrams,  404,  727 
Venice,  326,  402 
Verdun,  siege  of,  417 
Vermdchtniss , 656 
Verona,  325,  404 
Vesuvius,  336,  338;  eruption,  339 
Vicenza,  325,  403 
Vienna,  Congress  of,  600 
Vier  Jahreszeiten , 507 
Vogel,  Dr.,  637, 782 ; Goethe's  Selbst- 
zeugnisse,  111 
Vogel,  Die,  312,  583 
Voig-t,  C.  G.,  letter  from  Fichte, 
470;  death,  616 

Volkmann,  Johann  Jakob,  Histo- 
risch-kntische  Nachrichten  von 
Italien,  325  n. 

Vollmonde,  Deni  aufgehenden,  647 
Voltaire,  Mahomet,  133,  467  n.,  546, 
733;  Tancmed,  467  n.,  733;  criti- 
cism on,  511 ; La  mart  de  Cesar, 
547 

Von  clem  Berge,  zu  den  Hiigeln,  226 
Voss,  Heinrich,  478  n. ; Luise,  487 
Vulpius,  Christiane,  relations  with 
Goethe,  226,  382-391,  476 ; appear- 
ance, 382,  391,  476 ; birth  of  a son, 
387 ; marriage,  390, 535 ; at  Frank- 
fort, 457 ; love  of  dancing,  476 ; 
letters  from  Goethe,  477 ; illness 
and  death,  602 

Waelverwaxdtschaftex,  Die, 
525,  527,  550,  551,  558-569  ; criti- 
cisms on,  569,  687,  792  n. 
Walpurgisnacht,  Die,  462,  504 
Wanderer,  Der,  102-104 
Wanderers  Sturmlied,  101 


816 


INDEX 


Wanderjahre,  629 

Ward,  Mrs.  Humphry,  translation 
of  Amiel,  741  n. 

Wartburg,  244;  festival  at,  606 
W arumgabst  du  uns  die  iiefen  Blicke, 
290 

Was  vjir  bringen,  502,  503 
Wedel,  Baron  von,  255 
Weimar,  212,  220,  464,  781 ; popula- 
tion, 221 ; etiquette  of  the  Court, 
221;  War  Commission,  251;  new 
palace,  468;  Friday  Evening 
Society,  469 ; invaded  by  the 
French,  534 ; grant  of  a new 
constitution,  601 ; theatre,  304, 
359,  379,  407,  465 ; performances, 
306 ; enlarged,  466 ; burnt  down, 
642 

Weimar  Theatre,  Prelude  for  the 
Opening  of  the,  on  the  Happy 
Return  of  the  Ducal  Family, 
552 

Weimar,  Die  Lustiyen  von,  587 
Weimar,  Dowager  Duchess  Amalia 
of,  character,  221,  223  ; marriage, 
222  ; administration,  223  ; wish  to 
visit  Borne,  344 ; at  Borne,  401 ; 
at  Venice,  402;  death,  539 
Weimar,  Carl  August,  Duke  of, 
meeting  with  Goethe,  178 ; be- 
trothal, 200 ; marriage,  209 ; at 
Frankfort,  209 ; invites  Goethe  to 
Weimar,  209,  219;  friendship  with 
him,  220,  224,  241.  269, 455 ; tutor, 
223 ; character,  224,  260 ; gift  to 
Goethe,  229,  236;  at  Wartburg, 
244 ;-  tour  with  Goethe,  255-259 ; 
curtailment  of  expenditure,  268 ; 
alliance  with  Prussia,  271 ; es- 
trangement with  Goethe,  271 ; 
letter  from  him,  285;  relations 
with  his  wife,  308 ; criticism  on 
Egmont,  355 ; Tasso,  372 ; god- 
father to  Goethe’s  son,  387,  390 ; 
tribute  to,  405  ; military  expedi- 
tions, 405 ; at  Pyrmont,  463 ; 
opinion  of  Die  natiirliche  Tochter, 
498;  policy  to  Prussia,  531;  joins 
the  troops  at  Niederrossla,  534; 
allowed  to  retain  his  Duchy,  536, 
552 ; forced  to  join  the  Confedera- 
tion of  the  Bhine,  537,  545,  552  ; 
created  Grand  Duke,  600 ; treat- 
ment of  Goethe,  604;  grant  of  a 
free  constitution,  617  ; jubilee  of 
his  accession,  642  ; death,  645 


Weimar,  Prince  Constantin,  meet- 
ing with  Goethe,  178 
Weimar,  Ernst  Augustine  Con- 
stantine, Duke  of,  222 
Weimar,  Duchess  Luise,  222;  cha- 
racteristics, 225, 648 ; treatment  of 
C.  Vulpius,  390;  heroic  conduct, 
536 ; death,  648 
Weisen,  Die,  588 
Weltseele,  Die,  473,  507 
I Wer  ist  der  Verr titer,  695,  700 
Wer  sich  der  Einsamkcit  ergiebt,  291, 
292 

Werner,  Zacharias,  Martin  Luther, 
540;  at  Weimar,  549,  554;  sonnet 
on  Goethe,  549 ; plays,  568 
Wernigerode,  246 

Werther,  80,  83,  105,  116,  136-142, 
219,  222,  316-318,  425,  546 ; publi- 
cation, 139,  144 ; criticisms  on, 
144 ; influence,  146 ; imitations, 
146 

Werthes,  F.  A.,  impressions  of 
Goethe,  177 

Westbrook,  Harriet,  385  «. 
West-bstlicher  Divan,  525,  577  n., 
590,  593,  596,  607-611,  614 
Wette,  Die  gefdhrliche,  709 
Wetzlar,  105 
Wiedersehn,  Das,  504 
Wiederfinden,  599 

Wieland,  C.  M.,  criticism  on  his 
writings,  52 ; Alceste,  127,  227 ; 
tutor  to  Prince  Carl  August  of 
Weimar,  223;  impressions  of 
Goethe,  228,  264 ; letter  from 
him,  234;  relations  with  him, 
280,  454,  787 ; journal,  the 

Mercur,  391 ; member  of  the 
Freitagsgesellschaft,  414  n. ; cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honour  conferred, 
547  n. ; criticism  of  Elective  Affini- 
ties, 569 ; death,  578 ; criticism  of 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre.  691 
Wiesbaden,  591,  594,  603 
Wilhelm  Meister,  15,  48,  520 ; trans- 
lation of,  635 ; Lehrjahre,  314.  31S- 
320,  481,  666-694;  criticisms  on, 
691-694 ; Theatralische  Sendung, 
314-320,  667,  679.  687,  729;  TFan- 
derjahre,  525,  530.  636,  695-71S 
Wilkommen  rind  Abschied,  78 
Willemer,  Johann  Jacob,  593  ; mar- 
riage, 594 

Willemer,  Marianne  von.  poetic  gift. 
594,  597 ; relations  with  Goethe, 


INDEX  817 


597 ; death,  598  ; Stanzas,  598  ; 
poem  to,  647 

Winckelmann,  Johann  Joachim, 
833 ; History  of  Ancient  Art,  333, 
515 

Winckelmann  und  sein  Jahrhundert, 
essay,  515-517,  523,  660 

Winter  und,  Timur,  Der,  577  n. 

Wirhung  in  die  Feme,  552 

Wolf,  F.  A.,  473 ; Prolegomena  to 
Homer,  474, 487,  630 ; at  Weimar, 
527  ; relations  with  Goethe,  528 ; 
at  Tennstadt,  603 

Wordsworth,  William,  criticism  on 
the  poetry  of  Goethe,  39 ; poems 
of  humble  life,  493;  criticism  of 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre,  693 ; 
austerity,  796 


Xeniee,  426  n.,  483-486 


Young,  Edward,  Conjectures  on 
Original  Composition,  65,  69 

Zahme  Xenien,  614 
Zelter,  Herr,  142,  342,  450,  478; 
letters  from  Goethe,  467,  530,  618, 
650,  661, 780  ; friendship  with  him, 
526,  787 ; at  Weimar,  529,  530, 
623,  651 ; Director  of  the  Berlin 
Singing  Academy,  529 ; charac- 
teristics, 530  ; at  Wiesbaden,  592 
Ziegesar,  Sylvie,  543 
Zimmermann,  J.  G.,  225  n.,  227  n., 
232  ; Solitude,  209  ; impressions 
of  Goethe,  209 ; letters  from  Frau 
von  Stein,  233-235 
Zudringlichen,  Pen,  588 
Zuleika,  Buch,  598,  608 
Zurich,  202,  458,  460 
Zwei  wichtiye  bisher  unerorterte  bib- 
lische  Fragen,  123 


THE  END 


PRINTED  BY 

WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,  LIMITKT), 
LONDON  AND  BF-CCLF.S,  ENGLAND. 


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